


Supernatural, I Suppose

by Cleanse



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Crossmare - Freeform, Horrorlust - Freeform, M/M, Scifell - Freeform, Swearing, Violence, XChetty, afterdeath, charisk, dustberry - Freeform, errink - Freeform, kreme - Freeform, outerdance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleanse/pseuds/Cleanse
Summary: Not many know that the supernatural world is far closer than we think it is. Creatures walk among the mortals every day and they don't know it, oblivious to the other world that secretly lingers among the mortal one. Despite that, the supernatural world has always been relatively distant from the mortal one. This is the story of how those worlds grew closer than anybody expected...while following the story of a few mortals who were tethered, unwillingly, to this strange situation.
Relationships: Chara/Betty | Bête Noire, Cross Chara/Betty, Dream/Killer, Fell/Sci - Relationship, Frisk/Chara, Geno/Reaper, Ink/Error, Nightmare/Cross, Outer/Dance, dust/blue, horror/lust
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

He's lonely.

He's careless.

He's heartbroken.

He's outcasted.

He's desperate.

**Nothing makes sense.**

He's helpful.

He's inquisitive.

He's curious.

He's caring.

He's a quick thinker.

**He would sacrifice anything. Everything.**

He's determined.

He's brave.

He'll stand his ground.

He's knowledgeable.

He's quick-witted.

And they're going to win.

Ink gasped, shooting up in his comfortable bed. The mattress was soft and downy under Ink's touch, but it did very little to comfort or slow his racing thoughts as he clenched the sheets, his rapid, uneven breaths slowly coming down to a normal rate. Sweat beaded his brow as he sighed, running a bony hand down his face. The nightmare had been reoccurring recently. It was the same every time.

"Please, Ẽ̵̛̫̺͕̗̪̳̣̟̿͋͆̏̅̾̐͑͂͘͜͠r̸̹̰͖͍̰̬̼̜̲̤̹̥̰̿̆͋͊͌̀͌̾̈́̂̿̇̽͂̚r̸̳͈̠͙͙͚̼̆̾̓̽̃̀̀̒̒͐̔ő̷̧͍̳̅̉͝r̴͉̟̞̓̒̈́, hang in there," Ink begged, holding a figure in his arms. The most disturbing thing was that his figure was slightly faded, the moonlight shining through his body to reveal the stones below their body. Ink was running in the dark, moving past the few people and streetlights.

"Ink..." the figure murmured. Ink's pace quickened as he turned a corner, and his eyes darted around. Finally, his gaze landed on a wall, and he ran towards it with no doubts. He went straight through the wall and on the other side. It was a shrine. It had been nighttime outside, but in here, it was bright as day. There were Sakura blossoms all around, bringing a Japanese feel to it. Right in front of Ink, a well that had been painted entirely black awaited. "Trust the darkness," the figure murmured to Ink, and the phrase sounded slightly familiar as his gaze hardened, his grip around the person that seemed to be shrouded in shadow.

"Okay," Ink said, "I trust you." There was a certain warmth to those words, and the figure smiled. Why couldn't Ink's eyes focus on the other's features? He rushed towards the well before diving in.Then, as soon as he hit the water, the darkness suffocated him. It felt like it had sucked all of the air out of his lungs instantly, all the emotions he had ripped straight out of him.

The first test.

And that was where it always ended at, leaving Ink sweating and almost in tears each time. Wiping the sweat off of his forehead, the artist forced himself out of bed.

A new day.

"I miss you, Night," Dream said, sitting at his brother's grave. "I love you with everything in me. I should've helped you more. I should've protected you. I was so blind," Dream said, his voice thick with emotion. He burst out into tears, and his wail of sorrow pierced the air. "I love you," he sniffled, holding out his hands to hug the gravestone.

Nightmare Joku

The words written on the headstone was the name of his twin brother, the person who had shared laughs and sobs with him. He was gone. Grief, sadness and guilt tore at Dream's soul as he cried again, his tears soaking the ground. Yet, the grass and soil took his tears and absorbed it, using it to grow stronger. Maybe this was proof that out of his misery, something good could happen. "I miss you." The words broke his heart again, the heart that he had desperately tried to mend in his last few weeks of his brother being gone. Nobody even knew how he had died--he had disappeared a month ago, and after a while of searching, they had declared him dead. Dream had always held onto the hope that he was alive, and had shouted at the police that they hadn't done enough searching.

But then he had found Nightmare's circlet on the ground.

And then it hit Dream. His brother was dead.

A rustle of the bushes off to the side of the cemetery broke Dream out of his heartbroken thoughts. His head snapped up and turned to see the faintest of a dark figure, seemingly covered in some black substance. Getting to his feet, he stared after the bushes. If he was going to die by following this person, he could at least be with his brother. He made his decision, and started to follow.

Blue wore the orange sweater that his brother used to wear. If Stretch had been alive to see it, he would've laughed, cracked a whole bunch of puns, and teased him relentlessly. And Blue wished that he would. But he was gone. His wonderful, kind brother was gone, and nothing would change that. Blue sniffled, and his phone beeped with another message, presumably from one of his friends, asking if he was okay. Tragedy had hit 2 out of the three best friends. Dream had lost his brother, Stretch had died, and Ink seemed to be struggling to hold their group together. Blue then noticed that tears were dripping down his face, and he decided that he wasn't going to go to school today. It was too much effort.

He was too tired and heartbroken.

"Slut!" Someone shouted, and Lust shrank deeper into his hoodie, hoping that the fur could somehow hide him. All of these stares and disgusted looks thrown at him, even though he had been dressing normally for a long time. They still remembered the old outfit. Some people really couldn't let go, could they? Rolling his eyes, he tried to ignore them as he made way towards his old house. Dodging a few rocks, he finally broke out into a sprint.

Reaching his house, he panted before opening the door and then closing it again, locking it. Sighing, he moved to the living room of his house, before sitting down on the couch. He closed his eyes and decided to take a nap.

An hour later, Lust woke up. Forcing his eyes open, he blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision before noticing something. Was that...a book on his table? And Lust didn't remember putting it there. Picking it up, he realized that it had been one of his friend's last gifts to him before he had moved away.

A Guidebook To The Supernatural.

Lust frowned, but then shrugged. Screw it. Reaching for the book, his hands brushed across the leather cover, and chills went down his back as he brought it towards himself, and flipped open the first page.

"Are you doing okay, CC?" Cross asked the ghost child that had been laying down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling--and probably nothing. CC turned his gaze to his brother.

"I'm okay, Cross," the words were hollow. Cross frowned.

"Do you want to go to the shrine?" The monochrome skeleton asked, and CC visibly perked up, nodding. The corners of the monochrome's mouth twitched as he got up off of the couch. It was time to go to the shrine.

Stepping through the seemingly stone wall, Cross breathed in the pure air. The air in the shrine was sweet, fresh, and unlike any other. "Frisk?" He called out for the Goddess of Mercy and Hope. Surprisingly, Chara, the Goddess of Chaos and Despair, stayed with Frisk mostly. They had a long history together that even Cross, who was an expert on the supernatural, did not fully know. At the call of her name, Frisk appeared in front of the doors that led to the building that she lived in.

"Hello, Cross," Frisk said, smiling at him. She wore her usual white half-dress that contrasted compared to her lightly tanned skin, her eyes closed, her mouth in a smile. "Hello, CC." Being a Goddess, she had the ability to see spirits. CC dipped his head in a respectful greeting, and Chara appeared beside Frisk.  
"Greetings," Chara said, her face still in its usual plain expression. "What brings you here today?" It was the way Chara greeted both of them every time they visited. Cross smiled slightly.

"I had a feeling that you two could cheer CC up. He's been...very deprived of hope," Cross said. Chara made a face, and Frisk lightly slapped her on the arm. The Godess of Chaos made a fake insulted expression.

"How dare you!" Chara said, and then they both erupted into giggles. "Sure, feel free to wander around as you like," the goddess offered. Cross grinned. CC rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'm going to just relax and stuff," he shrugged and floated off to somewhere in the shrine. Frisk and Chara entered the building again, giggling and talking. Cross scanned the place that was covered by Sakura trees and found one that had enough shade to sit under. Going over, he sat down, and closed his eyes. 5 minutes wouldn't hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to know some of our character's backgrounds.

**(Warning: All of these have not been done in order--I did a few here and a few there, so it might seem a little scrambled)**  
 **Introduction: Ink**  
Ink wiped the sweat off of his face and closed his eyes before opening them again to see a figure in front of him flicker into view quickly, seemingly out of nowhere. It was a man in his 20’s, with dark hair. Ink barely had the time to take a look at the man’s features before he disappeared into thin air. Ink screamed, shoving himself back into the back of his bed, the pillows cushioning the rough shove. Footsteps were heard before his mom opened the door to his room.  
“Ink, why are you shouting?” His mom asked, rubbing her eyes, her tone slurred, barely awake. “Why are you up so early?” The artist sheepishly smiled.  
“Sorry, I thought that a spider was in my room for a second there,” Ink said, and his mom rubbed her eyes again.  
“Ink, it’s Saturday. Get some sleep,” his mother advised, closing the door. The soft footfalls eventually faded away to nothing, and Ink presumed that his mom had gone back to bed. He lay back down and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't stop thinking about the man who had literally walked through his wall. That was impossible...right? Ink shook his head, opening his eyes to glance at his clock. 5:37 a.m, the clock’s blinking, red lights spelled out the time on the little frame. Ink sighed, falling back into his pillow. He couldn’t sleep--that nightmare...or whatever it was...at the end--he hated the feeling of the cold, dark emptiness. It clawed at his heart and soul, devoid him of feeling...leaving him with numb emptiness. He detested the feeling. He always tried to wake up before he got to that point in the dream...and always failed, over and over again. He always felt the same emptiness, the same hollowness, and he despised it so much. Shaking his head to rid those dark thoughts, he sighed, sitting up in his bed. He was not going to go back there, back to that nightmare and darkness in that well. It was time to get up and do something. It wouldn't hurt to get up early for once.  
After getting dressed, Ink quietly made his way downstairs in his tan brown scarf, black sweater, and jeans. In front of the stairs, the door to the outdoors beckoned. He rushed to the closet, pulling out his brown, fuzzy boots, and quietly unlocked the front door and stepped out. Closing it behind him, he pulled out his keys and locked the door once again behind him. Ink breathed in the crisp, fresh air of the early morning, and started the trek towards his neighborhood park. On the way, he passed lush, green bushes and ferns, dew slowly dripping off the ends of the leaves. It must’ve rained last night. Huh. Ink didn’t remember hearing the rain. Everything around him seemed so young and new. Ink dismissed the feeling of dread in his gut as he walked on the path that led him to the park. The trees around him let a crowd of tiny drops fall and splatter onto the ground (as well as Ink’s head) as a small gust of wind blew past. It seemed quite appropriate for the gloomy feel the morning was giving off, given the passing of Stretch and Nightmare. Eventually making it to the park, he plopped on the wet bench and shot up almost right after. The moisture on the bench made his jeans wet. The artist scolded himself before resorting to crouching on the bench. The world around him was a little too silent--not that Ink minded. The peace and quiet was soothing, relaxing, and Ink closed his eyes as he simply listened to the sounds of the early morning. The birds were chirping, the flowers were blooming--  
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A new, soft voice said. Ink's eyes snapped open to reveal a girl, sitting on the bench across from him. The brown-clad artist nodded. There was a kind, relaxing aura around this girl, with her long black hair and sharp, angled amber eyes. She wore a school uniform that Ink had never seen before. The girl moved slightly forwards on the bench, leaning towards him, and it clicked in Ink as their eyes met. The malice and hunger behind her eyes stunned him. Wait--she wore a school uniform that wasn’t from around here, she stepped down from the bench, moving steadily towards him. Ink scrambled off the bench and started to run, but something instantly knocked him to the ground. He grunted as he hit the wet grass, and the girl flipped him over. Her jaw had unhinged in a horrifying way, her eyes wide and hungry, millions of rows of tiny, piercing teeth layering her mouth. Ink watched, horrified, as a heart appeared over his chest. It was pure white and he struggled as the girl kept him pinned with one leg and took the heart into her clawed hands.  
And then the color started to drain from it, the energy seeming to flow into her arms.  
There was a surge of pain as Ink screamed and struggled under her grasp as the girl’s mouth twisted into a grin that was too wide for her face. Her hands let him go as he fought the darkness and the numbness from consuming him. It was the same as his dream’s--cold, unnerving, and the eerie feeling of inevitability dawned on him as he fought back the pain that was slowly turning into numbness. His heart felt hollow as he finally made himself sit up and take a gasp of oxygen. His vision that had been pressing on him suddenly cleared as he made himself stagger to his feet. The girl in front of him looked normal as ever, but her hands were still like claws and her amber eyes were wide.  
“How are you alive?” She said, taking a step back. Ink looked at her, feeling completely numb of all emotion. Just a hollow shell.  
“What did you do?” Ink would’ve been surprised if this numbness wasn’t consuming him of how hollow his voice sounded. The girl trembled, her eyes, wide, showing her fear.  
“I-I absorbed your soul--” the girl said. Ink tilted his head.  
“Ah," the hollow artist simply said. “You’re a supernatural creature.” The numbness was clawing at him and he would’ve said that he disliked it if….he could feel. That was supposed to be scary--but it wasn’t. The fact that it wasn’t was also supposed to be scary, but it also wasn’t. The girl nodded, too shocked to respond as Ink walked closer to her. Just as he neared her, suddenly, blue strings shot out of nowhere, tangling the girl in their grip as the creature let out an inhuman yelp. Well, she was inhuman. Ink didn’t--couldn't-- care at all as the strings wrapped around the white heart in front of her. The schoolgirl wiggled and struggled and begged for mercy, but the blue strings wrapped tight around the glowing heart…  
Before snapping it in two.  
The girl stopped moving instantly as the strings abruptly let her go, her body tumbling to the ground, her eyes glazed over.  
The monster was dead.  
Ink turned to the sources of the strings, and then, a figure started flickering into view. Ink watched as a skeleton finally came into view. He was almost entirely transparent, with seemingly black bones and a questionable style of a trench-coat-looking jacket, navy blue scarf, and black pants with some sandals. “Hello,” the figure greeted. “I’m sorry--I wasn’t able to get here quick enough to salvage your soul,” he said. Ink dipped his head.  
“It’s quite fine. Well...I can’t really feel, but...you get my point,” Ink said. The figure nodded.  
“I’m Error,” he introduced. The artist nodded.  
“Ink.” Ink introduced. Error sighed.  
“You shouldn’t be able to see me--though it might be because you don’t exactly have a soul anymore,” Error said. “I’m surprised that you’re still alive.” Ink blinked.  
“Is that why the girl was so surprised that I was still breathing after she...absorbed my soul?” Ink asked. The ghost nodded.  
“You shouldn't be alive--though you are,” Error commented. “And it’s even more surprising that you can see me,” he said. Ink nodded again, unsure of what else to do.  
“I...people are going to notice,” Ink bluntly said. Error shrugged.  
“Can’t help you there, pal," the ghost said, and there was a tinge of uncomfortableness. To be honest, Error wasn’t liking how hollow and numb Ink seemed to be. Then again, he had no soul...it was only rational that he couldn’t feel emotions anymore. “My condolences. I must go.” Error said, and he disappeared. The hollow skeleton blinked again, before dusting the dirt off of his black sweater. He was going to have to find a way to feel again. He couldn't have people knowing what had happened.

When he got home, he took note that it had surprisingly only been an hour. His family hadn’t noticed that he was gone. The walk home had been the same, except, everything seemed bland and uninteresting--because he was still numb. Ink sighed, trying to think of something that would somehow restore his emotions. Slipping up into his room (which was basically an art room for him), he looked around for anything that would somehow have him regain his ability to feel. He had been searching around when something caught his eyes.  
Paint bottles.  
Something in him was calling for him to go drink it for some reason. It was ridiculous and irrational. There were all the colors of the rainbow. Red, Orange, Yellow, Blue, Green, Purple, and Pink. The artist shrugged--why not give it a go? Taking all the bottles, he spotted a few vials on the counter. Going over, he poured the paint into 7 of them, and then closed the caps. Right after, he downed them all.  
It was a rush of color...and emotion. His emotions came flooding back to him, filling him with warmth. Ink whooped in celebration, pumping up his fist.  
He had gotten his emotions back.  
 **Introduction: Dream**  
Dream shivered, following the black, slime-covered creature just so far away that he could barely see the other...thing. They seemed to be a skeleton as well but covered in a black tar-like substance from head to toe. The poor person--though Dream wondered what had happened to the other skeleton to have turned them into this. And most importantly--why had they been watching him weep over his dead brother? What if they were dangerous? Dream nearly scoffed at the last thought. Even if he died, he could at least be with Nightmare, so he wasn’t afraid to ask the skeleton for answers, even if they were dangerous. There was barely anything worth living for anymore. So he was going to get his answers, hopefully, bid the skeleton farewell, and go back to his miserable life--which was ironic, being the guardian of positivity. Continuing to follow the tar-covered skeleton through the bushes and letting himself be further led into the forest, Dream couldn’t help but wonder where the creature was going. This was the middle of a forest! The guardian of positivity’s question was answered as the skeleton suddenly stopped, fumbling to pull something out of their pocket. A key. Dream let himself wander a little bit closer, holding his breath as he silently pushed past a few ferns to see something that sort of made sense.  
A house, barely standing in the middle of the forest. It was made of wood and barely seemed to be holding itself together. If this was the creature's house, then why was their house in the middle of a forest, nonetheless close to a graveyard? They had been walking for almost 10 minutes--which wasn’t really far when you thought about it. Dream watched as the tar-covered creature inserted the key into the lock and twisted it ever so slowly before the faintest of a ‘click’ rang out. It was intended to be a soft sound, but everything was so silent that the sound rang out like it was being broadcasted around the small clearing. The goop-covered skeleton didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered as the door swung open, the door letting out a small ‘creak’ that sounded like it had been also broadcasted across the entire forest. The skeleton was stepping into the house when Dream made a horrible mistake.  
He stepped on a branch. And if he thought that slightest click of a lock or the slight creak of a door was loud, the branch snapping against the ground was the worst sound ever. The sound felt like it was blaring in Dream’s ears, and Dream instinctively held his hands up upon his ears, the crackle of the stick feeling like someone had set off a firework in his head. The sound rang for a few moments before Dream realized that the skeleton had started to start towards him.  
“Who are you? Come out,” the skeleton ordered, and from the tone of voice, Dream could tell that he was a male. The guardian of positivity sighed--there was no point hiding now. He had been stupid enough not to memorize the way back to the graveyard, so he was probably going to die. He was at the skeleton’s mercy as he stepped forwards, pushing past brushes and ferns before he stood directly in front of the goopy skeleton. Now that he was closer, Dream took the time to analyze his features. He was relatively tall, slightly taller than Dream himself, and his right eye was covered by goop, his left eye a bright cyan that seemed to bore into his soul, the skeleton wearing a shocked expression on his face--wait, shocked? “Dream?” It was a simple word, a simple question, yet it held so much confusion. Yet when Dream stared hard enough at the skeleton in front of him, he almost couldn’t believe it.  
“...It's’ not you, it can’t be you!!” Dream said, his voice breaking. “I saw your circlet--I have it--you’re supposed to be--” Dream said, his eyes wild as he took a step backward. The skeleton in front of him smiled shyly.  
“It’s me--Nightmare,” Nightmare said, and Dream instantly ran forwards to crush his brother in the tightest hug that he ever possibly could.  
“Nightmare!” Dream said, tears of happiness and relief flowing down his cheeks as his brother hugged back, his goop somehow not standing Dream’s clothes--not that he cared at all. “You’re alive, you're here,” the golden-clad skeleton was in disbelief. It really was his brother. He wasn’t dead. Nightmare, his twin brother, somehow slightly taller and covered in goop, was real and hugging him back.  
“I’m here,” Nightmare confirmed. “I’m really here--in the flesh--or bone,” and Dream let himself laugh, tears still streaming down his cheeks as the two brothers rejoiced. “I was scared that you’d reject me,” Nightmare said after a few seconds in a small voice. Dream looked up from his brother and broke apart the hug, even though he wished that he hadn’t.  
“Of course not! You’re my brother--I love you,” Dream said, the same words that he said earlier at the gravestone when he thought that his twin was dead. Dead. It seemed like an eternity ago, even though they had left the graveyard only 10 minutes ago. 10 minutes ago seemed like a different reality.  
“I love you too, Dream,” Nightmare said, his now cyan eye focusing on Dream.  
“But...how did you end up like this?” Dream asked, confused. Nightmare sighed, his face falling as he gestured for his twin to follow him into the house. Dream did as said, following his brother into the old house as the door closed behind them with a click.  
“It was the villagers--they cornered me,” Nightmare began, and the guilt washed over Dream for not being there with his brother. Nightmare seemed to sense it, leading his brother to a rather clean living room in order to sit him down. “It wasn’t your fault,” Nightmare assured his positive twin. “I know we promised to never eat the apples of the tree--but I was going to die,” Nightmare bluntly said, and Dream felt tears welling up in his eyes.  
“How...bad was it?” Dream asked. Nightmare shuddered himself.  
“I was bleeding out onto the ground. They had bashed everything on me with a bat and some even had knives. I...was so scared, Dream. So I took the apple and ate it,” Nightmare said, his entire body shaking as Dream wrapped his brother in another hug. “And then...this happened,” the goopy skeleton gestured to himself.  
“It’s okay, brother,” Dream said his hold tightening. “I won’t let them hurt you again.” And the two of them basked in each other’s warmth, simply sitting on the couch.  
 **Introduction: Blue**  
Guilt and sorrow tore at Blue’s soul as he cried into Stretch’s sweater, the tears soaking the thick and fluffy fabric.  
“I should’ve been there,” Blue murmured. Stretch had been murdered the week before. “I could’ve stopped them,” Blue said again, louder this time, as he hugged the sweater that had belonged to his brother. There was a giant rip in it, and when inspected by the authorities, it had been confirmed to have been a stab wound. There was a faint stain on it, as well. Blood. Believe it or not, skeleton monsters did bleed out when hit in the chest. And it was all he had left of his brother. Photos, clothes, his room...Blue hadn’t even realized that he had been crying until the tears hit his bony hands, and Blue wished that he was numb as he sobbed over the death of his brother. He’d already thought of going after Stretch’s killer, and he had shaken himself out of it before he really started to let his mind go down that path. The path of plotting how he’d find them and kill them out of revenge. But he knew that his brother would’ve wanted him to not do that, no matter how angry, sad, and torn by guilt the smaller skeleton was. Stretch loved him, and would never want anything bad to happen to him...so he was going to respect what he thought that Stretch would want for him to do. Everything inside of him ached with the throbbing pain of misery and losing someone, and he didn’t even try to stop the next onslaught of tears that rolled down his cheeks. The tears splattered against the floor and his clothes. He didn’t care anymore--he was too tired to care. He wished that he couldn’t feel--numbness was better than this aching hole in his chest that reminded him of how his brother was gone. Blue fell deeper and deeper into the pit of grief and sadness, not able to stop himself from doing so. He tried to pull himself out, stop himself from falling this deep into this pit of despair, but Blue found himself spiraling down and down and down, deeper and deeper into it to the point where he couldn’t see the light of the world anymore. He couldn’t see the light of life anymore. He wanted his brother. He wanted his brother so badly. He wanted Stretch to be back, to crack his puns, for everything to go back to normal. Shaking his head, he got up and dragged his feet over to the shelf. His eyes locked onto the clear, glass bottle that held his brother’s dust. Picking it up, he forced himself to open it. It was time that he faced the fact that his brother was gone forever. His hand shook as he made it clasp onto the metal lid, his other hand firmly holding the glass bottle as he shook again, his entire body following the example of his hand. Blue’s tears started to roll down his cheeks again as he shook, not wanting to open the jar. He was scared. He wanted for Stretch to come in the door, and laugh, proclaiming that it had all been a misunderstanding or a joke. He had waited for hours the previous day for Stretch to do that--to prove the authorities wrong, that he really was alive. He had waited for hours on end until the sun fell behind the horizon, the moon taking its place, glimmering brightly in the night sky. Blue would’ve remarked on how beautiful it was if his brother was still there. So many things about Stretch. Blue took a shaky, deep breath as he returned his focus onto the jar of dust. Forcing his hands to keep steady, he made himself stable before slowly twisting off the metal lid. It felt like it took every single drop of strength in his body in order to do that, and Blue let himself shake as he peered into the jar. Dust. So. Much. Dust. It took in his entire vision, consuming everything else as he stared at the remains of his brother. One of the only things left of his caring, laughing, kind, and considerate brother. It was so pitiful. All that remained of his body was dust. Blue hated it. The hate and bile crawled up his throat as he started to shake again--not in sadness, but in pure anger. Who could’ve been so evil to kill a kind person like Stretch? His vision turned red, as he let out a scream of rage that shook the entire house. But then--he sneezed. Wait a minute...the red receded from his vision as he stared at the dust. Blue was allergic to normal dust in a way that he sneezed if he was too close to too much of it--which was why he would spend time with Stretch cleaning. But this was proof. Monster dust was different--Blue had been around different piles of dust, helping out after accidents and comforting broken people. But this was proof. If Blue had sneezed after poking his entire nose into the jar, it only meant one thing. Blue wanted to allow himself to hope and remembered that they hadn’t gotten an expert to look at the dust, because Blue was too scared that they’d say that Stretch really was gone. But now...Blue looked at the dust again. He couldn’t believe it--could it really be true? Hope rose in his chest, the light binding the hole of despair and grief in his chest, repairing his entire being as Blue let himself relish the thought. Stretch was alive. Someone had faked his death. How did he know? If Blue had sneezed, that only meant one thing. The dust was fake. The dust was fake! His brother was alive...but something else crushed Blue’s hope. If someone had faked his death...did that mean Stretch was in trouble? Blue’s blue eyes glinted with determination. He didn’t care if it was late at night--he’d get an expert to make sure that this wasn’t real dust. And when they said yes, because Blue was sure, he’d start working to find and get his brother back. He was going to get Stretch back, no matter what it took.  
 **Introduction: Nightmare**  
Nightmare felt fear course through his body as the villagers stood in front of him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he observed that some sported bats and a few even sported knives. Nightmare shivered as the leader, a human male with blonde hair and brown eyes, stepped forwards. “  
Alright, skelly,” the villager said. “You can either give us the apples of positivity and negativity,” he said, taking a step forward. “Or, we can take them from you by force,” he snarled, the rest of his lackeys grinning. Nightmare started to sweat, the fear flowing through his veins as all he wanted to do was run--but he couldn’t. He swore to protect the apples with his life--and with his life, he protected them so. Nightmare grit his teeth, forcing himself to stare into the leader’s eyes.  
“No,” Nightmare said, his voice cold and strong. The leader grinned.  
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, and wasted no time to lunge at Nightmare, who barely had the time to dodge. Then all of a sudden, all of the 7 other members of the gang were on him. 3 had knives, and 4 had bats. Nightmare was all alone. He wasn’t going to win this fight--he was going to lose it badly, and he wasn’t sure if the villagers would actually kill him. He didn’t want to find out. Rolling away to dodge another swing of the knife, a bat hit him in the chest and Nightmare choked, doubling over. One of them managed to scrape his arm with the knife as he barely rolled out of the way, the wound stinging slightly as Nightmare looked behind him. The tree stood on the hill in all its glory. His moment of distraction earned him a bat to the head, which he staggered backward to. A few punches and kicks were earned, Nightmare too slow to dodge them all. Bruises and cuts littered his face and body as he was slowly pushed back up the hill by the ruthless and relentless villagers. The knife swings he narrowly dodged, and a few had come close to decapitating a limb or so. Nightmare didn’t really want to lose a limb. At all. The swings and attacks grew faster and more relentless, and Nightmare walking backward uphill wasn’t turning the tides in his favor. Where was Dream?  
“I bet you’re wondering where that brother of yours is,” the leader smirked, putting a hand up to stop his lackeys from hurting Nightmare anymore. “Well, guess what? Even your own brother decided that we were better than you, and is hanging out with a few of our buddies!!” The leader said, and tears welled up in Nightmare’s eyes. Did his brother really not prefer him over these bullies? “Look, he’s gonna and go cry to his mommy--oh wait, he doesn’t have one!!” The leader howled, the rest of them following along. Nightmare forced the tears in his eyes to go away, and fury built up in his chest as he took a swing at the leader. But, a lackey jumped in front of the leader, blocked Nightmare’s punch, and then sliced at Nightmare’s chest. Nightmare had already been in the movement, and he was unprepared for the pure agony that ripped through his chest. The entire group backed away, and Nightmare realized that he’d backed himself to the bark of the tree as the leader smirked, feeling no mercy for the bleeding skeleton. “You should've died earlier,” he spat, and then the group started for the apples. Nightmare tried to get to his feet as the villagers started to pluck the apples from the tree. One of the lackeys grabbed an apple of negativity, but as soon as it touched his hand, he flinched, dropping the apple.  
“WHAT THE HELL?! IT BURNS AT CONTACT!” The lackey said, showing the others his burnt hand. The apple rolled next to Nightmare’s limp hand as the guardian of negativity had an idea. He reached out slightly and grabbed the apple. There was so much hate inside of him as the villagers didn’t seem to know that he was still there and dying. Nightmare knew that he had promised his brother to never eat an apple--but he was going to die. Nightmare was going to eat the apple, but then, watched, shocked, as a slime started to coat the apple that was in his hand. The rest of the humans were still plucking the apples, and this was his chance. Nightmare bit into the apple and instantly dropped it to the ground. He hadn’t even realized that he had swallowed the apple until the searing pain and agony spread to every limb of his body as he let out a choked cry of pain.  
“HE ATE THE APPLE! HE ATE THE APPLE!” One of the lackeys shouted, and all of them dropped the apples as a thick, black slime started to coat Nightmare in a thick layer. Suddenly, Nightmare let out a brutal cry of pain as tentacles erupted from his right eye, before melting, covering his eye in a blackness. Nightmare could see only out of his left eye as he gazed at the horrified villagers. Then, power and strength surged through his veins as he stood up, four, slimy tentacles erupting from his back and he grinned. He was going to kill them for what they had done to him. The lackeys dropped their weapons and started to run off without their leader.  
“HEY!!” The leader shouted, shaking as he turned back to Nightmare. The end of his tentacles sharpened and he grinned evilly, one stretching forwards to grab the leader in a chokehold. All of the lackeys stopped to watch their leader choke to death as another tentacle sharpened and impaled the second one. The rest of the five started to flee, but Nightmare made quick use of the rest of the sharpened tentacles to stab them all--but made sure to miss any fatal organs so that they could bleed painfully and slowly onto the ground. They would die, even with medical help.  
“This is what you did to me. Now die,” Nightmare cackled as the leader choked and pleaded for mercy, their fear empowering him as he squeezed the leader’s through tighter, and then the human let out a final gasp before falling limp. He had died. Nightmare grinned, letting the leader fall limp onto the floor as he started to walk away. He had gotten his revenge.  
 **Introduction: Cross and CC**  
“Please, take me! Not him,” Cross begged, crouching protectively in front of his younger brother, CC, who was bleeding out onto the harsh, cement ground. His side bore a horrible wound that Cross didn’t even want to look at--and it was all the doing of their caretaker if you could even call him one. X. X-Gaster. X-Gaster was a cruel, manipulative scientist that conducted experiments on those who he ‘kindly’ took into his orphanage. You couldn't even call it an orphanage--it was just a lab. For testing on children, in order to find “Scientific advancements” in biology. It was painful and horrible--and it was how Cross had gotten the red, zigzag scar underneath his right eye. “Please,” Cross begged again, and taking a step back, CC whimpered. They weren’t biologically brothers--but they cared for each other like they were. They stuck through thick and thin--it didn’t matter if they weren’t from the same mother and father. They were brothers. And Cross was going to protect him. Gritting his teeth, X-Gaster sighed.  
“I cannot conduct experiments on both of you while you both are like this, so I will leave you both be,” X-Gaster said, and Cross winced as the adrenaline wore off and the sharp, bitter pain of the wound in his chest stung like hell. Wobbling over to his brother, Cross put pressure on CC's wound. His brother groaned.  
“Help yourself, Cross--you’ve got the worse wound,” CC said, his face paler than usual as he feebly tried to push his brother’s hand away from the wound. Cross’s own blood dripped onto his brother’s white clothing, which had faded red spots over it. Dried, washed blood, showing the stains that had never fully come out. It was proof. Cross ignored his brother, continuing to put pressure on his brother’s wound until it finally started to stop bleeding out in immense amounts. Sighing in relief, Cross was so caught up in CC coughing and getting up that he hadn’t realized one thing. “CROSS!!” CC shouted, and Cross looked down at his legs.  
They were starting to dust.  
The soul appeared in front of him, half-empty, as the skeleton started to dust even quicker. CC ran over, reopening his wound, and the blood splattered against the floor. “Cross, absorb my soul, now,” CC ordered and pulling his own soul out of his chest. It was also half empty.  
To put it simply, they were both dying.  
“CC, no,” Cross said, his legs starting to dust even quicker.  
“Cross, I’m dying too--” CC said, and Cross's head snapped up. He wasn’t going to let his brother die. Even if it meant absorbing his soul--he would still live on. Cross grabbed CC’s soul, and stared at both of them, hovering next to each other, as Cross’s torso started to dust. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!” CC shouted, and Cross was too tired to do anything. So, CC pushed his own draining soul into the spot next to Cross’s in his soul.  
A flash of light and warmth rushed through Cross, his energy picking up again, his entire body feeling alive again. Cross jerked up, the wound in his chest gone. Wait...where was CC? Turning around, CC’s body was nowhere to be seen in the dark cell of the basement, the entire floor painted crimson with blood. “Cross?” CC’s weak voice said, and Cross whipped around to see CC…  
But he was transparent. “Cross…” CC said, his voice trembling. “I--I--” his foot slipped right through the ground, and Cross watched, shocked, as CC managed to pull his foot out of the ground and start to float. “This isn’t possible--why am I transparent?” CC asked, Cross staring at his brother. He had an idea as to why--but he didn’t want to say it. It wasn’t possible--they didn’t exist. No. It couldn't be. Yet when he glanced at his brother who was floating above the cement, he had to say it.  
“CC...I think you’re a ghost.” The words seemed to hang in the air, none of them knowing what to say.  
“WAIT! That means that you can use my ability to summon knives!” CC said. “And our strength, combined together…” CC’s eyes drifted to the barred windows. Cross grinned, running over.  
“Wait--how do I do it?” Cross asked, and CC thought about it.  
“Think about a...Uhm...a pocket of space in your mind. Imagine that it’s huge--and that there’s a giant supply of giant knives in there,” CC began, and Cross did as instructed. “Now, imagine that you can pull one out of there and put it in your hand,” CC said, and Cross imagined that he pulled a giant knife out of his supply and put it in his hand. And then...opening his eyes, there was a new weight in his hand as Cross stared down at the giant, glowing, red knife. CC grinned.  
“I did it,” Cross said. “Thanks, bro,” he said, and throwing it up, he focused...and it stayed in the air. Moving it with his mind, he started to saw at the bars.  
“Just chop it, Cross--I’ll keep watch for X-Gaster,” CC said, taking a gulp before going through the wall. Cross moved his hand to imitate the movement of the time to chop the bars, and the knife went smoothly through, like a hot knife through butter. The window was large enough for Cross to slip through. Another one. And the 3rd, the final one was cut.  
“CC,” Cross said, and CC seemed to have heard him as he floated through the wall.  
“All clear--and I think you know what to do,” CC said. Cross nodded, focusing his magic into his feet--something that X-Gaster had taught him--and jumped, making sure not to put too much force into it. His feet touched the small ledge high up, and Cross crouched, barely small enough to fit through the bars. He was skinny enough, so he opened the window and slipped through easily. He dropped down into the grass, which had been right outside of the glass. Closing the window behind him, he stared around at the rolling green hills. He was free.  
“We escaped--we can do this,” CC said. Cross nodded.  
“Me and you, bro, there's nothing we can't face."  
 **Introduction: Error**  
It had been a rainy day outside. The rain was pouring down like nobody’s business, the little droplets pelting against Error’s hood making him shiver, the rain soaking into his clothes and making him colder by the second. Error sighed, going down the sidewalk, groceries in his hands. It had been his turn to grab the food from the store this week, and he made his way towards the crossroads, thinking about what he was going to make for dinner tonight with his brothers. He stopped, waiting for the green light that signaled for him to walk to blink upon the streetlight. He shifted on his feet, wishing that he had an umbrella when a few horns sounded out. Error whipped around, his eyes wide, as he saw a car wildly spinning towards him. The driver had no control over the vehicle. In the last few seconds, he locked eyes with the driver, his face panicked and wide-eyed as Error was frozen, rooted to the spot in pure fear. It seemed to take an eternity but at the same time, too quickly as the car drew closer and closer, his life put into slow motion as the driver struggled for control that he would never get. The grocery bag in his hand seemed to weigh a hundred pounds as the screams of the people that had been watching rang in his ears as the world turned to black and white. And as soon as Error thought that the car would never hit, it did. The front of the vehicle slammed into Error’s chest, sending him flying into the air. There was a searing pain in the area where the front of the car had hit him, the agony spreading like spider web cracks through it. Error choked as he flew through the air, his body having a weightless sensation. His eyes glanced at his surroundings, but not really seeing things. He crashed against the brick wall of a building, his head rebounding because of the impact. The agony spread to his neck and head, and Error wanted to scream. The terrifying part was that he was too tired to do so. He was then aware of the throbbing in his left leg, and he was sure that he’d broken it. Everything hurt. He just wanted to sleep. The screams around him grew fainter and fainter as he briefly heard the words ‘911’, the world pressing in with a comforting blackness. It promised to keep him safe, to keep the pain away, to let him rest. Error wanted to give in to it, even though his brain was screaming at him that if he did, then he’d die. So he hung on with the last of his mental strength, forced himself to try and stay conscious for his brothers. His brothers. Strength flashed through his weak body as he felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher, and he was worried that he couldn't hold on for much longer. Everything was so tiring, he wanted to let the darkness win, surrender to the fact that he wasn’t going to make it. He struggled to stay awake as a mask was placed over his mouth, giving oxygen to try and help him live. But deep inside of him, he knew that he wasn’t going to make it. He was too wounded, and Error hadn’t even realized that there was a giant wound on his chest, near his heart. The glass of the windshield had embedded itself into the wound as well, and it felt like someone had dumped a giant bucket of salt on all of his injuries.  
“Hold on,” a voice said, and Error wanted to reply with ‘I’m trying'. He was too weak, too tired, too scared. He wanted to succumb to the emptiness. He wanted to let himself die, he wanted to give up and just not live. It was pointless--everything was pointless. He just wanted to sleep. The blood seeped through his clothes, giving him a feeling of absolute coldness as he shivered slightly. “It’s okay, we’re almost there, hang on,” the voice said again, but the wound in his chest was getting worse. Error was then aware of everything in his body slowing down. His breathing, his heartbeat, his brain...the darkness whispered for him to rest, to give in, and let himself be peaceful. And Error was so tired--so, so tired. So he let go of the last strand of light in his vision and let his eyes close, and he felt everything shutting down in him as his consciousness faded away, the last whisper of a thought the only thing left. His heart stopped beating its slow anthem, his ears ringing with the long, flat beep as even the pain seemed to recede. His chest stilled, and Error knew that his time had come, and there was no avoiding it, no matter how hard he tried to stay and hang on to that last little thread of life. His thin rope cracked, before snapping in two. Error felt himself falling so deep inside of the inky blackness that was his mind...and death. It was the end.  
 _I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Geno, Fresh._  
It was the last thing as the darkness buried him underneath it, choking him, his too tired mental eyes closing for the last, final time. He had lost--he had lost against the darkness...and he had lost something precious, a gem, a treasure.  
He had lost his life.  
After the inky darkness had swallowed him whole, the entire thing being a thick layer that was impossible to swim through, he felt something calling him. Another tiny speck of light in this empty, unending darkness. So Error, despite how tired he was, gathered the rest of his strength to swim towards it in his mental eye. The light drew closer and closer, growing bigger and brighter by the second as something was being whispered from it.  
“Error, please, don’t go, please,” it was Geno. His older brother, while Fresh stood beside him, hugging the other as the two of them sobbed. He wasn’t going to leave them. Reaching out for the light, his fingers brushed against it, and it grew blinding, so bright that he shielded his eyes. It washed over him, freeing him of the exhaustion and blackness that had been choking him.  
Error opened his eyes again, gasping as he took a deep breath. He sat up before heaving himself to his feet. Wait. Something wasn’t right, something was very, very wrong. Looking down at his mismatched hands, he gasped upon seeing how... colorless and transparent they were. They were bland--devoid of any life and vibrancy. And then it hit Error.  
He was a ghost.  
 **Introduction: Killer**  
The cold weather made the fox shiver. It was winter. The hardest time of the year for him to survive. His fur coat wasn’t thick enough to protect him from the biting winds and cold snow that crunched under his paws. But he wasn’t going to give up. He was going to find a way to become human. All the others said that he was strange--said that he was absurd, questioned why he wanted to become one. Humans were an inconvenience, a danger to foxes. But he wanted to know more about them. He wanted to talk to them--learn more about their culture, and the only way to experience that was to become one of them. He was going to find a way, no matter what. He was tired of being a fox, tired of just being an animal. He wanted to be more. He shivered but kept on going against the blizzard, even though he should’ve probably rested a mile back. He was going to keep on going until he could.  
“Oh you poor, poor thing,” a woman’s voice sounded out. The fox looked up. A woman in a fluffy coat and boots, along with other warm clothes, stood in front of him. The cold was becoming unbearable quickly--and the fox didn’t think that he could last any longer. The cold was closing in and the fox barely felt the woman’s hands picking him up and bringing him somewhere in her arms. He just wanted to be warm.

He woke up, his fur coat warmer than usual and he sat straight up. His gaze flickered around as he spotted the woman sitting down on a bench.  
“Are you feeling okay?” The woman said, and the fox took the time to examine her features. She had long, straight blonde hair, and the softest green eyes he had ever seen. The fox frowned. “Oh, I know you can understand me, silly. I practice magic--specifically, animal magic. I can shapeshift!” She cheerfully said, and the fox watched in awe as she became a fox herself. She had the same calming sea-green eyes, and her fur coat was a blond color. “Hi! I’m Amanda--nice to meet you…?” Amanda said, and the fox blinked.  
“I...I don’t have a name,” the fox admitted. “But it’s nice to meet you too.” He was half-expecting for the girl to not understand him, but she gave him a fox smile.  
“That’s okay! We can think of one,” Amanda assured him. “But why were you out in the cold without your pack?” The fox looked down.  
“Because...I want to find a way to become human. Everyone else shuns me for it,” the fox said. Amanda frowned.  
“Why do you want to be human?” The fox sighed.  
“Because I want to learn more about them. I want to fully experience being one,” the fox explained. Amanda thought about it for a moment.  
“I mean, I can search for it, and I’ll try my best!” Amanda cheered. The fox looked at her.  
“Why would you do this for me?” The fox asked.  
“Because I want to help every animal,” Amanda said. “Now--let’s get you a name!” The fox thought about it for a moment.  
“Jett?” The fox asked, and Amanda smiled.  
“Sure!” Amanda approved. "I love it."

And that was the first time that Jett had ever met a human. A shapeshifting human. They grew to be close friends over time--and after a few months of being with each other, Amanda figured it out. “Jett?” Amanda called, shapeshifting into a fox. “Jett, I figured out how to make you into a human,” Jett was happy--but then realized that she didn’t sound happy.  
“Why aren’t you happy?” Jett asked, and then realized how harsh that sounded. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Jett instantly apologized, but Amanda waved it off.  
“Jett, you have to promise me that you won’t do it. I can tell you, but never do it, okay?” Amanda said, and Jett nodded.  
“Promise,” Jett promised, and Amanda sighed.  
“You have to consume a human soul,” Amanda finally said, and Jett shook his head.  
“I promise I won’t do that--I’ll wait for you to find another way,” Jett said, and Amanda smiled in relief, shapeshifting back into her human form.  
“Thank you,” she said and went back into her room.

It had been nearly two years--and Amanda hadn’t found another way to make him become a human. Jett was near the end of his lifespan. He was going to die soon. He could feel it. Amanda had been working hard, but she wasn’t going to make it. Jett was scared. He didn’t want to die. So, one day, when Amanda went to bed, Jett slipped out of the house. He sighed. He was going to die. But he could at least try to find a human. Going through the woods, his nose picked up a sharp, metallic scent. Blood. Human blood. Jett’s pace got faster and faster as he followed the scent, and then finally, burst into a clearing. The grass was soft and lush, the trees swayed gently in the wind.  
And in the middle of the clearing, a human was bleeding out onto the ground. He had been slashed in many places, and he was cruelly being left to bleed out in order to die. Padding closer, the man’s slowly glazing, frantic eyes, landed on him. “Please, fox,” the man begged. “End me. End my suffering,” he said, and his face twisted in pain. Jett sighed, walking forwards, and put his jaws over the other’s neck. Right before he bit down, the man whispered something. “Thank you,” The man said, and Jett bit down. As soon as he did, the metallic sting of blood entered his mouth, and Jett wrenched his mouth free as he staggered backward. The man was dead. But...wiping his tongue around his teeth and jaw, Jett watched in surprise as a floating, yellow heart appeared over the man’s chest. And the heart seemed to call to Jett--the way it glowed seemed as if it was calling to him. It was beckoning for him to just absorb it and Jett obeyed, walking closer until there was a rush of energy. It took him over, filling him with warmth as Jett realized that he was no longer a fox.  
He was a human.  
Wait.  
This wasn’t human.  
Jett stared at his bony hands, and the worst of all--a foxtail was still behind him. A pair of fox ears on his head. He was covered by a shirt and shorts--that was it. “JETT!” Amanda’s angry voice pushed through the awe. “YOU PROMISED!” Amanda said, and her eyes flickered to the man on the ground. “Y-You killed him,” Amanda whispered, and Jett’s eyes locked with hers.  
“I-I swear, I didn’t kill him--he was dying,” Jett frantically tried to explain. Amanda glared at him, her green orbs holding no warmth or friendliness.  
“You lied!! You’re a killer!!” Amanda said, and something snapped in Jett.  
“Alright.” His voice was as smooth as glass. “Fine. Then don’t call me Jett.” Amanda’s eyes widened as he glanced crazily at her, something pouring down his cheeks. Black ooze oozed down his face as he turned to her. “My name’s Killer from now on,” he said, starting to walk very slowly towards her.  
“Y-you’re a monster--” Amanda said, backing up, but Killer cut her off.  
“No, darling~ What did I say? I’m not a monster--I’m Killer,” Killer said, his tone sickly sweet. “Alright. You can run back to that sweet little cottage of yours--I’m glad we met, Amanda.” Amanda felt chills go up her spine as Killer turned away and started to walk. “You taught me that humans can’t be trusted--I’m glad I didn’t end up turning into one.”  
 **Introduction: Horror**  
Horror gripped the inside of the hole in his skull, his other hand’s fingers tapping against the table. Tomorrow night was the night. The night of the full moon. The cursed night that he hated and had dealt with for hundreds of years now. When he had been 9, he had been exploring the forest, looking for something to hunt when he had his first encounter with the supernatural. A werewolf, on the night of the full moon, had been out of control of his own body, and when he had seen Horror, had gone rabid, pinning him down onto the ground and had bitten him. Horror remembered it, clear as day.  
 _Horror was looking for a deer to kill, cook and eat that night. Or maybe a chicken or a bear. He didn’t care--he was hungry, and he wanted to eat something. He could’ve taken something from his home, but Horror had a fascination with eating things that he killed in the wild--and that was what would get him cursed to this very day. Horror grinned, stalking through the forest, his trusty ax slung off his shoulder. He was only 9--but an expert at using the deadly weapon. Horror continued to carefully and silently go through the forest, before hearing some shuffling. His ears perked up, and he knew by the sound that it was making it would be a large meal for that night. Stalking quietly closer, he peered through the bushes to see a wolf. Horror froze mid-step as the wolf sniffed the air, its yellow eyes scanned the clearing. The skeleton held his breath as the wolf’s eyes drew closer and closer to him...and then, suddenly, it was looking away in the other direction. Horror turned around and started to walk away when a weight crashed into him. Horror yelped as the wolf pushed him down, his body now facing upwards as the wolf sniffed his face, its lamp-like eyes scanning every inch of his face. Horror trembled with fear as it sniffed the hole in his head. It seemed to be thinking before Horror’s hand twitched, trying to reach the ax that was a meter away, and had tumbled out of his grasp. The skeleton had a sinking feeling that if he had kept it in his arms, he would be laying on the ground with the ax embedded in his back. Horror let out a shaky breath as the wolf’s ears perked up, and it growled before it unhinged its jaws. Horror was terrified. He was going to die._  
 _But what he didn’t expect was for the wolf to bite into his neck. It wasn’t deep enough to cause injury, but it drew some blood as Horror winced, the wolf staring into his eyes as it seemed to be waiting for something. When nothing seemed to be happening, the wolf put its weight off of him, before starting to run off. Horror struggled to his feet. The skeleton reached for the gash in his neck, feeling for the blood...that was no longer flowing. Horror blinked, confused, before realizing that the wound had somehow already healed. What…? Horror frowned, unsure as to what in the world had just happened. Dragging himself over to his ax, he sighed and decided to head home for the night. Somehow, he felt more tired than usual--though that was maybe the adrenaline fading? He didn’t really know, so he started the trek back home. He didn’t need to eat tonight--his appetite had been vanquished. So, tiredly, he dragged himself back home._  
Horror snapped himself back into reality, stopping himself from reliving the rest of the night. He hadn’t transformed into a wolf that night--at the next full moon, he had. And Horror was not going to relive that experience. So he sighed and turned to the window, where the almost full moon shone down, softly lighting up the night sky. He would try his best to make it through tomorrow night--and he had a better chance than most others. Horror, surprisingly, had the most control over his body when he was a wolf (and yes, despite the hole in his head, he had all of his fur!), which came at a great advantage for dealing with other supernatural creatures on the night of the full moon. Having control over his body meant that he could actually form and do plans other than having the wolf part of his brain recklessly jump into a situation, just wanting to tear the enemy apart into little shreds. And then feast on their dead bodies--which was yuck, though luckily he had managed to restrain himself every time the urge had popped up. If he hadn’t, Horror would’ve never been able to live with himself. The werewolf glanced at the night sky again, small stars twinkling in the skies above. Was there a cure to being a werewolf? Could he ever go back to living a normal life? Probably 'no' to both of those questions--but a werewolf-like him could dream. Horror shook his head--it was time to worry about tomorrow night. There were rumors among a few other werewolves that he had talked to, that apparently, tomorrow night there was going to be an onslaught of Crocotta unleashed by some mysterious force. A few werewolves had agreed to team up, though Horror thought that they were foolish--they weren’t going to have much control over their bodies, so they’d likely tear out each other’s throats other than the Crocatta’s throats. Horror wouldn’t have access to his ax, being a werewolf and on all fours at the time, but he could do some serious damage and was quick on his feet. Another abnormality--despite being a werewolf, Horror wasn’t scared of silver or metal. He used his ax, made of silver, often to go hunting, and even once, while being a werewolf, used a metal pipe to knock out another supernatural creature. If they were Crocotta, Horror was going to have to bite into the back of their necks in order to eliminate them. That could be a problem, but if he knocked them down from the back, he would have a chance at a free bite...Horror took what he said back. Tomorrow night was going to be fun.  
Introduction: Dust  
“Dust Calvateyla,” the sound of a regal voice said. Dust rolled his eyes, and having been bound to his half-dragon half skeleton form, clicked his fingers together. The mostly skeleton was led out of his cell and into a huge room that was painted entirely white. A black rug on the ground in front of him led to the three ruling leaders of the Dragon Race--or Dragon Elves--whatever you wanted to call them. Dust, covered in the dust of the other dragons that he had burned to death, stepped forwards, his ever-present smile on his face widening.  
“Emerald,” Dust responded, his eyes locking with the other Dragon Elf. The three rulers preferred to stay in their human/skeleton forms.  
“You are here today because you murdered your entire village,” Emerald continued. She was the one who spoke for the three most of the time. Dust nodded, his grin fading slightly.  
“Yes, I did,” Dust said, earning gasps from the lower court. Usually, criminals would try to deny what they had done, but Dust just straight out said the truth. “Because if I didn’t, our 'visitor' would,” he continued.  
“Either way, you were the one who committed the crime,” Emerald pointed out. “We cannot deny that.” Dust sighed, shaking his head.  
“I guess not.” Dust shrugged, accepting his fate.  
“Before we decide on a punishment for you, what were your motives and thinking for killing your entire village?” Emerald said. It was it--the part in the hearing that might change the entire punishment or consequence. But when she said it, the entire thing came rushing back into his mind.  
There had been a human visitor that had seemed nice at first, but in reality, was plotting revenge. Dust wasn’t even going to say their name, as he was sure that it was fake as well. But he remembered the girl whispering to him:  
“You kill them, or I make their deaths slow and painful,” they had said, the evilest grin on their face, even though Dust hadn't been able to see it. Dust knew that they would get away with it--and if he didn’t do it, then he would die too. At least he could secure the quickest, most painless deaths for everyone he knew. So he did. He made sure that after he ignited them, he quickly made a stream of fire so that they turned to ashes and dust. But it was horrifying, even just to relive the experience. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he sighed and spoke again.  
“I said this before. The visitor that we foolishly let into in my village was plotting revenge for some reason and told me that if I didn’t kill everyone in the village, then they would make their deaths slow and painful. The least I could do was to give them a quick and painless death. And I know it was selfish to try and keep my own life, but I did it.” Emerald nodded, giving him a smile for his honesty. She turned to the other two and began discussing what they would plan for him. There was a few minutes of debate and glaring, but then Emerald stood up.  
“We would’ve banished you forever and stripped you of all of your magic, leaving you in the human and monster world,” Emerald said. “But, since you have been honest, we have decided to give you a chance. We shall strip you of your dragon form--but leave you with the basic fire and illusion magic in order to hide your tail and such,” Emerald informed him. Dust nodded. It was only fair. “But you cannot come back here unless you complete a heroic deed.” Dust nodded again. It wasn’t like he even wanted to come back--even if he completed a Heroic Deed, he would face scorn and whispers for the rest of his life in his home and everywhere else. He wasn’t going to face that, thank you very much, he’d rather live with humans for the rest of his eternal life...which is what he’d been condemned to, after all. The murderer nodded again.  
“I understand,” Dust said, his voice hollow as Emerald snapped her fingers, and 4 mages came into the room.  
“We’ll take you to the room where we’ll...perform your punishments,” the first mage explained. All of their faces were covered by hoods but he could tell that it was a male. Dust nodded again, and let the four of them lead him away.  
It was a room made of metal and stone, and the four mages had Dust sit down on a chair. Dust didn’t resist, not even as they began chanting some weird spell that Dust was too tired to figure out. The heat and the searing pain took Dust out of his thoughts as a golden, glowing choker tied itself over his neck and wrists. It felt like it was the sun, burning into his bones as he let out a choked cry of pain. But as soon as it had started, it was over, even though during the time it had felt like an eternity. Dust choked for a few more seconds before breathing again. A different mage spoke.  
“Could you please try and use fire breathing?” The mage said, and Dust took a deep breath before attempting. Nothing happened. It hadn’t even hurt. The third mage seemed to brighten up.  
“It’s good that it didn’t hurt, and the spell was effective!” The third mage said, and the fourth mage nodded.  
“We’ll also escort you out,” he said, and Dust stood up, and the four mages led him out of the room and down a few flights of stairs. “You’re not allowed to take anything--though I don’t think...you have anything left,” the fourth mage murmured sympathetically. Dust simply nodded as he approached the giant metal gates. The second mage opened it for him and Dust stepped out.  
“Thank you,” Dust murmured before beginning to walk in his fairly casual blue hoodie, white (stained grey) turtleneck, black pants, and soft brown boots. “Good day,” he said, and the four mages watched as Dust walked off into the distance to start his new life...among mortals.  
 **Intro: Dance**  
The crowd went wild as Dance finished his hip hop routine, posing for the final beat of the song. His trusty hood was over his face as he bowed, a hidden smile touching his features as the crowd of humans and monsters together, forming a circle around him, shouted for an encore. The speaker that played the music was sitting in the center of the circle, waiting for Dance to play another track. The hip-hop dancer internally chuckled as the crowd continued to scream for another routine. _Another one, huh?_ Going over to the radio, he thought for a moment before pressing a few buttons. This was his personal favorite song that he loved to dance to when he was alone--and he had been perfecting this routine for years. The music started to play as Dance got into position, and the hype beat got people jumping and excited as Dance started to perform. The hip-hop dancer got into position as his legs and body started moving according to muscle memory, and he focused on himself as he continued to dance. The moves were making him start to slightly sweat as he flipped and added acrobatics in, before sliding straight into the splits, using that to do a very famous move. The crowd cheered as he did it, spinning around on his arms and legs as he grinned. This is what he loved to do. As he flipped again to get right back onto his feet and continued to dance, his eyes caught someone’s face in the crowd. He was also a skeleton, with the basic, white pupils, and was wearing...a strange galaxy outfit. It was a galaxy sweater that was fluffed, and there were two yellow stripes going across it. The stranger smiled at him, and the smile was so charming that Dance nearly lost his balance before using the momentum to perform a few more flips, which the crowd apparently absolutely adored. But, as his eyes searched for the stranger in the crowd again, he didn’t manage to find him before Dance remembered that a few more breakdancing moves were needed. More cheers rang out as he moved to the melody and did a few spins before continuing the routine. Halfway mark! A few more famous moves like the Orange Justice, the Hype, and Dance was nearing the end of the song. His entire body was active, some sweat beading on his brow, but he didn’t finish until he posed again right after doing the final move, the hood somehow managing to cover his face for the entirety of the performance. Dance grinned, waving his hand as he went back over to the radio to stop it from continuing onto the next track. Dance bowed--as a way of ‘thank you for coming’ since he never spoke. The crowd went wild again as Dance pulled up his sleeve to take a look at his watch. 5:53 p.m. Oh gosh--he was out late, wasn’t he? Dance sighed, picking up his speaker, before slinging it under his arm and waving as he made his way through the crowd, who all turned to him and let out their final cheers. Dance grinned and started walking down the sidewalk.  
“Hey,” a new voice said, and Dance jolted, his hood almost falling off of his face as the stranger from earlier appeared beside him.  
“...” Dance didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t want to expose his voice. He decided to be polite. “Hi,” Dance finally said. The stranger smiled again.  
“I’m Outer--I just really wanted to say that I loved your dance,” Outer complimented, and Dance felt his face ignite. Sure, people had complimented him--but nobody had personally taken the time to go up to him and compliment him one on one. It was...different, in a way.  
“Oh! Thank you,” Dance finally managed to find out how to speak again. “That means a lot to me,” he said. “Oh--I’m Dance, nice to meet you,” Dance said, stopping his walk in order to shake the other’s hand. Outer shook his hand.  
“Dance...your name is Dance.” Outer flatly said before both of them burst out into laughter. “Hey, it explains why you’re so good at dancing! Your name literally is Dance.” Outer pointed out. Dance rolled his eyes.  
“Hey, can you judge? Your name is Outer,” Dance said. Outer snickered.  
“I don’t think I can--my apologies, O Great One,” Outer teased. Dance rolled his eyes.  
“Just Dance is fine,” he said. Outer snickered.  
“Got it,” he said, and there was a moment of silence.  
“Do you like to dance?” Dance asked, and Outer thought about it for a moment.  
“I...don’t dance often,” Outer admitted. “I’ve never been really good at it,” the galaxy-hoodie wearer explained. “Well, maybe that’s because I don’t do it often.” Dance frowned.  
“I mean--you could be good if you tried,” Dance pointed out. “It just takes practice, dedication, and time.” Outer smiled sweetly at Dance.  
“Thank you--though you have places to be, right?” Outer asked, and Dance nodded, looking up ahead, seeing the bus come into view.  
“Yeah, I do--it was nice meeting you!” Dance shouted, starting to run for the bus.  
“It was nice to meet you too!” Outer shouted back. Dance managed to make it to the bus stop without it going without him, but he took a second to look backward to see if Outer was still there. Their eyes locked again as Outer gave one final wave as Dance started up the steps. Dance waved back once before going onto the bus...to presumably never see Outer again. For some reason, the thought filled him with slight sadness--Outer had seemed to be a kind person. Wait...if Dance wanted to stay in contact, he should’ve asked for the other’s phone number! Dance facepalmed, sitting down. Why did it matter so much?! Dance sighed again, closing his eyes and leaning against the seat as the bus began to move again.  
 **Introduction: Outer**  
Outer sighed, thinking of the other skeleton that he’d met that day. His name was Dance, he did dance (ironically), and he was a mortal. Something about him...was just...attractive in a way that nobody else had ever been.  
“Outer!!” Someone said, and the God of the Cosmos nearly fell off of his chair.  
“Y-Yes??” Outer stuttered, turning his attention back to reality. Frisk was standing in front of him, a strange look on her face. “What can I do for you?” Outer’s shrine was usually set at night so that he could stargaze and see the stars all of the time. It was peaceful and quiet, the moon always softly lighting the place. His building was painted with a space theme (hey, could you judge?) inside and outside, and Outer had been daydreaming (Thinking about Dance) when Frisk had appeared.  
“I know you have a reputation for being dreamy and always having your head in the clouds, but I had to call your name three times!” Frisk playfully said. “I’m here to remind you about the meeting that we all have in an hour! I was expecting for you to forget,” the Goddess of Mercy teased, and Outer flushed slightly.  
“Oh, I actually did forget, well, oops,” Outer said, fiddling with his sleeves.  
“What are you thinking about? Did you visit the mortal realm?” It was no secret that Outer visited the mortal realm more than any other God or Goddess. He walked among them like he was one of them, longing for the past and life he had long ago, most likely. Outer nodded in response after snapping out of his thoughts for a few seconds and smiled. “Did you meet someone?” Outer smiled again.  
“Yes, I met someone quite interesting,” Outer said, his face flushed slightly, but Frisk instantly wiggled her eyebrows.  
“Outer!! Do you…?” Outer flushed even more.  
“I just met him!!” Outer said, pushing Frisk lightly on the shoulder. Frisk rolled her eyes and grinned, sitting down on another one of Outer’s chairs that so happened to be sitting in his office. “You also know, it’s forbidden to...y’know, love a mortal. And, they only let Gods and Goddesses go to the mortal realm because I asked for that!” Frisk rolled her eyes.  
“A lot of God and Goddess rules are stupid,” she bluntly said. Outer snorted, before rolling his eyes.  
“I agree, but keep your voice down--what if 404 heard that?” Frisk snorted as well.  
“Don’t care. I can deal with him,” the Goddess casually said, and Outer rolled his eyes as well.  
“That attitude is going to land you in boiling hot water,” the God warned, and the Goddess sighed.  
“I guess.” Frisk simply said. “But anyway, tell me about this mortal that you met!” She excitedly changed the subject, and the Cosmos’s guardian sighed and gave in.  
“Fine. His name is Dance--” Outer started, but Frisk interrupted.  
“oo--I already like this one--” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.  
“He does hip hop--” Frisk took the chance to interrupt again.  
“His name is dance, he obviously dances!” The Goddess pointed out, and Outer sighed, facepalming.  
“Here, let me do the talking,” he said, attempting to calm the other down. “Anyway, I watched him dance--and before you ask, yes, he’s good, okay?” Outer said, but Frisk started to bounce around vividly around his office like a young girl.  
“Ohmygodohmygod did you talk to him?” Frisk asked, her closed eyes (somehow) shining. The other God sighed.  
“Yes, I talked to him,” Outer admitted, and the Goddess of Mercy let out a whoop.  
“What’s he like?” Frisk asked.  
“Well, he’s kind of shy--” Outer was cut off.  
“Sounds like you--” Frisk snickered after saying that.  
“Oh shut up. Anyway, he’s really nice, apparently can’t take compliments well, kinda laid back, chill,” Outer listed, and Frisk grinned.  
“Sounds interesting. Do you have his contacts?” She asked.  
“Why do you want to know?!” Outer shot back.  
“Cuz if you wanna make a friend, you should at least have his contacts,” Frisk pointed out, and Outer sighed.  
“Nope.” He admitted, and Frisk’s expression immediately fell.  
“Ugh, gosh, damn...you know the chances of finding him again are like 0?” Frisk pointed out, and Outer’s mood fell even more.  
“Why are we even talking about this again?” Outer felt the need to ask that question, and Frisk shrugged.  
“Oh, I dunno--why not? We’re going to pass the time as we wait for the meeting. We got nothing else to do,” Frisk shrugged. Outer sighed, hating that she was right.  
“Why don’t you go bug another God or Goddess?” The God of the Cosmos asked, and the Goddess of Mercy grinned.  
“Because you’re my friend, and I may or may not love to annoy you right out of your mind,” the girl’s voice held no sympathy or apology, just playfulness and the undertone of teasing. Outer sighed, dragging a hand down his face.  
“Uggggghhhhhh--can you just leave me to sleep? I’ll set an alarm so that you don’t have to come back,” Outer said, really needing some time to himself. Frisk seemed to get the memo and saluted him.  
“Yes sir!” Frisk said, before disappearing into thin air. Outer sighed, before teleporting to his room and flopping right onto his bed. Grabbing his alarm clock, he set it for 30 minutes before setting it back on his nightstand. Turning over onto his side, Outer tried to get some sleep like he said that he would, but his brain was too active. It just wouldn’t let him sleep--and the most frustrating thing was that it kept on flipping back to Dance and his charming smile--Outer slapped himself before wincing--he didn’t mean to slap himself that hard. Also, brain, there were two things! One--he was probably never going to see Dance ever again, and two, he wasn’t even allowed to date a mortal! So, it was pointless, he told himself, yet after his mind refused to stop thinking about Dance for a few minutes, the God of Space and the Cosmos found himself drifting off into a peaceful slumber.  
 **Introduction: Lust**  
It turned out that the book that his friend had left him, (and also had decided to mysteriously, without him moving it, appear on his table), A Guidebook To The Supernatural, really was larger than it seemed. Every time he turned a page, the book seemed to add another to the back of it. And there was so much information. So. Much. Information. Lust could’ve spent an eternity reading from this book. Each new section provided information on different types of Supernatural Creatures, some from different parts of the world and different religions, and in each of those categories, types of supernatural creatures that existed inside of their religions and parts of the world. It was fascinating, really--Lust didn’t know why he hadn’t looked into this earlier! The Supernatural really was interesting, intriguing, and fascinating--something that Lust needed in his absolutely boring life. Other than occasionally being yelled at or bullied, Lust had nothing exciting to do. He was pointless, without purpose. Nothing seemed to catch his attention anymore, but this book...and the topic, had. Silently thanking his old friend for giving this book to him, he continued to read until he flipped onto a very interesting page.

 **Werewolves**  
 **Basic Information:** Rumour has it that certain people have the ability to transform into wolves on the night of the full moon, each month. These people generally actually have some of their wolf-like traits while still in their normal form. Some examples are Night vision, sharp nails, canine-like teeth, and incredible speed and strength, along with many others. Though, it can vary from person to person what wolf-like traits they keep while still being in their normal form.  
Lust scoffed. He loved how this book talked about Supernatural Creatures like they were real things, though come to think about it...was there any proof that the Supernatural wasn’t real? Lust shivered at the thought of all those creatures mentioned in folklore and stories walking the earth, being real. Some of them were not pretty, and Lust hoped that he would never ever have to meet any of the disgusting ones--especially the ones who sucked out your soul. And the other disgusting ones, too. But werewolves were really interesting--unlike most other Supernatural creatures, they lived a completely normal life other than the night of the full moon and kept a few wolf-like traits while still in their human or monster form. How would it feel, hiding that kind of daunting secret from everyone that they knew? Wouldn’t it be such a burden, a pressure on them? Lust sighed. Well, he’d never know--because he’d never meet one. And, assuming werewolves were real, they’d never tell him if they were a werewolf. Why was he even thinking about this again? Shaking his head, he sighed, turning the page again, but flipped back to scan the incarnate image of the wolf that was drawn on the page. Piercing, slitted red eyes, and a black, fluffy coat. Interesting. Lust’s hand turned to flip to the next page, but he paused, and looked back at the wolf on the page, and blinked. The wolf seemed to be staring right at him. Lust shook his head and turned his attention to the next page.  
 **Extra information:** Werewolves are most certainly more common than people expect them to be. This book would say that at least 1 person in your school, work office, or anywhere that you spend with a bunch of other people, is a werewolf. They’re not that uncommon, despite what people think...if you believe that they are real, of course.  
 **How to kill them:** Werewolves can only be killed by decapitation, or if you use silver weapons, as they are vulnerable to silver.   
The book slipped out of his hands, landing on the floor with a soft thump. The book couldn’t possibly be telling the truth, right? That wasn’t possible. Werewolves weren’t real. None of these supernatural creatures in this book were real. At all. Nothing that this book had said was real. Supernatural creatures were all stories, myths--there was no way that they existed. Lust shook his head, picking up the book again, and flipped to the next page, despite himself.  
 **Crocotta**  
 **Basic Information:** They mimic the voice of a loved one in order to lure their victims in, and then eat their souls when they have trapped the victim.  
 **Warning:** 1 day.  
Warning? What did 'warning' mean? What did it mean by 1 day?! Lust’s soul started to pound in his chest as he breathed in and out to try and calm himself down, but then his eyes caught onto the next part of the page.  
 **How to kill them:** You must stab a Crocotta in the back of the neck in order to kill them.  
Lust sighed, his mind wandering towards ‘warning’. He had one theory on it, but the logical part of his brain said that it wasn’t possible, that the Crocotta wasn’t real and couldn’t hurt him. That one theory lingered around the edges of his mind, forming an idea and a plan. Lust sighed, deciding that he would wait an hour and see if anything happened. He bet that nothing would happen to the book or the warning. Setting the book down, he closed his eyes again.  
An hour later, Lust picked up the book, and flipped back to the Crocotta page, crossing his fingers and praying that nothing had happened. Because if something did...it was proof. Nobody could have messed with the book, he had watched it for an entire hour. It hadn’t moved an inch. Closing his eyes, he breathed out one final time before looking at the Warning.  
 **Warning:** 23 hours.  
Lust’s breath hitched. It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t possible. But then his mind flashed back to the paragraph before it. _You can kill it by stabbing it in the back of the neck. You can kill it by stabbing it in the back of the neck._ It hadn’t specified if he needed a certain type of metal, so he supposed that any ordinary knife would work. Lust breathed out a shaky laugh. He couldn’t believe that he was doing this, nonetheless considering this. Walking over to his kitchen, he pulled out a drawer and took out the biggest knife that he had. The metal gleamed in the light and Lust turned it over, the knife gleaming as if begging to be used. Lust put the knife back down and into the drawer. He would decide tomorrow.  
 **Introduction: Fell**

Everything hurt. His arms, his legs, his chest, his face. There hadn't been a single part of his body where it didn't ache or have a bruise. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and he hid his face in between his legs, sitting on his bed. The bruises were from getting into fights or falling. His younger brother, Edge--though he didn't call Edge that anymore--didn't seem to care though. He acted like he was the older one--and Fell didn't even want to call the other skeleton his 'brother' anymore. After he had come home late that night, his brother had ignored him and his bruises. It was so pitiful--Edge wasn't even abusing the other--he was just...busy. Fell hadn't realized that he had been crying until the tears softly, slowly, made its way down his face. Fell blinked, trying to fight them off, but doing that made it worse as more tears came flooding down his face, his sniffles and cries of sadness silenced to nothing but small, almost silent hiccups. If Edge had seen him crying...he would probably scoff and walk away, make their relationship worse. So Fell wiped the tears off of his face and went over to the mirror in his room, slapping himself lightly in the face. He wasn't weak. He wouldn't cry anymore. Edge didn't deserve to be wept over. Fell was strong, crying did nothing. Yet he was too scared to try and talk to his younger brother because deep down, he just wanted his approval--wanted them to be a _family_ again. So, Fell grit his teeth, and told himself one thing: _You don't need his approval. He doesn't deserve that high consideration,_ Fell told himself, grinding his teeth against each other as he grinned at himself in the mirror. _Stop letting him push you around,_ a small voice in his head said. _You're stronger than him. You can easily take him out with that abnormal power of yours,_ it said. Another thing that nobody knew--Fell used more than basic magic that all monsters could use. More than simple blue magic--even that, for him, was in the color red. Every attack that he used was outlined by red---another abnormality. Blue magic was supposed to be blue, not red--yet here he was. Looking up, he dreaded for the second that the other monster that lived in the house to start banging on his door, expecting dinner to be made. He wished that he didn't have to live like this...He just wished that his brother would see that what he was doing was wrong and it was hurting him--he just wanted for it to stop. "FELL! GET DOWN HERE AND COOK DINNER!!" Even though he had told himself not to be afraid, the fear coursed through his body as he forced himself to be brave.

"GO COOK IT YOURSELF!" Fell shouted, and there was a moment of silence before the footsteps started banging up the stairs. Fell forced himself to keep his composure as Edge slammed open the door, rage burning in the depths of his eyes.   
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!" Edge roared, his entire body tense and angry.

"I TOLD YOU TO GO COOK YOUR OWN DINNER, ASSHOLE!" Fell said, flipping the bird at the other skeleton, who raged, and took a step forwards, blue magic fuming at his hands. But Fell was ready, and his left eye ignited red as the other eye socket went dark.

"You wanna have a bad time?" Fell chuckled darkly, his own 'red' magic starting to have an aura around his own hands as he stood up, back straight, cracking a few bones as he went. The two of them stared at each other in a standoff for what seemed like forever to Fell, before his brother snorted.

"I don't think that you could _ever_ beat me in a fight," Edge said, arrogance lacing his tone. What, he could just ignore him like he was some trash, and then Edge could come back and try and walk all over him?

"I don't think you'd last 5 minutes against me," Fell responded, rage lacing his. Edge was the one who took the first swing with a bone attack, to which Fell easily dodged. His left eye lit up even brighter as he outstretched his hand, and Edge's soul appeared, blue, and Fell whipped him out of his room and into the hallway, the other skeleton tumbling down the stairs as Fell slowly stalked out of his room, like a hunter stalking its prey. He could practically _smell_ Edge's fear, wafting up to him as the other skeleton stood up and put a brave face on. Fell took his luxurious time, going step by step down the stairs. "We both know that my magic is stronger than yours--so I'll be sweet and nice, and give you the chance to forfeit to me," Fell said, his tone sickly sweet. He wanted for his brother to bow to him, to say that _he_ was wrong for once, and the rage boiled in his veins as Edge shook his head. "THE HARD WAY, THEN?!" Fell bellowed and started throwing Edge down the stairs and into the walls, smacking him into furniture and wood along with metal. Edge let out multiple cries of pain and grunts, but Fell didn't stop. He was going to inflict the same pain onto his brother that he had done to Fell--every last drop. It seemed like 15 seconds when 15 minutes of smacking and grunting had followed, and Fell finally let Edge drop to the floor. "Never boss me around. Because from now on, you don't get to treat me like your slave," Fell said, not even giving Edge a glance as he started up the stairs, and back into his room, where he locked the door.  
 **Introduction: Sci**  
Sci always remembered being different from the other kids at school. Other than the fact that he hid a dangerous secret, he was smarter, faster than the other kids in every subject, excelling at everything and anything he did. Except for physical education. Despite his mind being stronger than average, his body was weak and fragile, as he spent almost no time working out or getting much exercise. He would much rather spend his time in a library filled with books and knowledge (and a few comics).   
Each book that he ever took by its spine out of the shelves held its own world inside of its pristine pages, each word carving and weaving an incarnate and beautiful story that would keep Sci captivated, no matter what genre it was. Despite his name, he didn’t just excel at Science or just read science fiction books--why keep yourself so limited when there was so much more to explore in the realm of knowledge? But, understanding this separated him from all of the other kids--even the nerds, even though he was considered a huge one. And everyone presumed it was either because he distanced himself, or he was just too smart for the other nerds, it was really because both sides distanced themselves. Sci was very different, in a way that nobody else could understand.  
Ever since a few years ago, Sci had started seeing everything in detail. It was like a rush of information to his vision, on the side of his vision, keeping away from the main thing that he was trying to look at. It was sometimes was basic information on the landscape, when it was built, what it was originally built for. Sometimes, when he stared at a math question, it was tips on how to solve it. It varied, and throughout the years, Sci realized that it only happened when he wore his glasses, so whenever he really didn’t want to know the information in any certain situation, he just took them off--he wasn’t that blind without them. No, he really wasn’t!   
Sci sighed, returning his focus to the page in front of him, though thinking about the way that he was different brought up something that he didn’t want to think about at all. The fact that the little, fragile skeleton was a siren. Whenever he decided to sing, anyone and everyone who heard would be put into a mindless trance and would do whatever bidding he put them to, which was incredibly scary when he thought about it. He had almost never used his ability as a siren, though he had been tasked with finding the guardian. He had kept the book for a while, searching for the one destined to hold it when some siren hunters had come into town. Fearing for his life, he had decided to move away. It didn’t matter anyway--he had already found the Guardian. He would leave it to his friend as a last gift from him--and hopefully, one day, they would see each other again. It was the day before his last day in town, and he had spent most of it with his friend before deciding to go to the library for one last time. He tried to return his focus to the page of the wonderful book that he was reading, but in the back of his mind, the worry that the hunters would find him here started to creep upon him. Trying to shake his worry away, he returned his focus entirely to the book that he was reading.  
He hadn’t even noticed the fact that the hours had passed, reading books usually put him into that sort of trance where the time flew by. Looking up, he realized that it had gotten dark outside and decided that it would be a wise idea to head home. Closing the book and heading for the shelves to return it--it would be pointless to keep it, as he was leaving tomorrow--he set the book on the shelf with a little bit of disappointment and loneliness. Books had been some of his best companions during his lifetime--and he loved this library. Turning around, he waved to the librarian as he exited the homey place. The last rays of sunlight were blinding, and Sci had to shield his eyes from the light as he continued to walk towards his home at a steady pace. He was only a few meters from his house when he heard rustling. Sci continued to walk at a normal pace. Hunters. He refused to look at them and let them know that he knew that they were there. If he walked a few more feet, he would be okay. Time seemed to go too slowly before the sound of a net being launched sounded. Sci ducked and rolled, his eyes spotting the hunter in the bush who was reloading, curses sounding from there. He couldn’t take his chances, and most likely, the hunters had their ears plugged so that singing wouldn't work. Taking his chances, he started to run towards the front porch. His fingers fumbled for the keys as something popped up on the side of his glasses.  
 **Duck**. Sci did as told and ducked as a net bounced off of the door and behind him. The key was barely steady enough in his hands and he turned the lock before running in, slamming the door closed and locking the door. They wouldn't’ dare interfere on private property--it could get them in trouble with the law. He wasn’t safe outside of his house--and they probably would have his security down in the matter of a few days. He guessed that he wouldn’t be moving tomorrow afternoon--he would be moving early tomorrow morning. Grabbing his bag, he opened it before taking a moment to stare at the book. He would deliver this tomorrow on his way. He wasn’t safe anymore.  
 **Introduction: Geno**  
Geno saw the world through the colors of grey, black, and white. It was like someone had made him colorblind to the light that he used to call life. Everything that had been full of joy had been stripped of him as he mindlessly, zombie-like, went through the days that had no meaning, no rhyme or reason to them after Error’s death. Even his brother, Fresh, who always used to wear colorful clothes, now wore plain and empty attire--not that it mattered. It didn’t matter that his wound was prominently on display from his white jacket and white clothing, it didn’t matter that people stared and whispered about him as he passed by, it didn’t matter that he used to try and blend in by wearing red shirts, it didn’t matter that his scarf was slightly ripped and torn, nothing mattered. Life had lost its light, and Geno was looking forward to meeting Death, actually, as opposed to living. So, when he had thought that, he didn’t actually think that he’d ever meet Death in person. On that day, when it had been his shift at Starbucks, he had forced himself to put on a fake smile and use fake enthusiasm to greet the customers. The next customer moved on in the line, and Geno had been lost in his thoughts to the point where the skeleton in front of him had to make an ‘ahem!’ sound.   
“Hey, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?” Geno said, his voice oddly flat. He had been too tired to make a fake happy voice. The person in front of him frowned.  
“Are you alright?” He asked, and Geno sighed.  
“To be honest, no,” Geno replied. The customer in front of him sighed.  
“Yeah, neither am I,” he said, and Geno took a second to look at him and see the resemblances between him and the Grim Reaper--hell, he wore everything like he was!  
“Are you cosplaying as Death?” Geno amusedly said. The skeleton in front of him snickered.  
“Sort of--if you count the fact that my name’s Reaper,” The newly introduced Reaper said.  
“Pfft--I’m Geno, nice to meet you,” Geno said. Reaper grinned.  
“Anyway, we probably shouldn’t get people waiting--I’ll have a black coffee, no sugars, no cream or milk--dark as my soul,” Reaper joked, and Geno snickered slightly, typing the instructions into the machine in front of him.  
“That’ll be $4.52 with tax,” Geno said, and Reaper brought out his credit card. Geno turned the machine around, and Reaper reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against Geno’s hand. Reaper froze, his hand about to put the card on the machine as if waiting for something to happen as he scanned Geno’s face. “Are...you okay?” Geno asked, and Reaper grinned, his smile wobbly as he tapped the card quickly against the machine and moved on.  
“Yeah, I’m fine--have a good day!” Reaper said and moved quickly out of the line. But Geno caught him slipping on some gloves, and swore that he heard the other mumble: “I can’t believe I forgot to wear gloves...but that doesn’t explain why he…” but then another customer was moving up in the line, and Geno put on his fake cheeriness again as he smiled at the next customer.  
“Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get for you today?”  
It turns out that Geno’s shift ended right after that customer. Geno sighed, taking off his apron, and started to move to the front of the store when his eyes caught Reaper, sitting alone at his table. Their eyes locked, and Reaper beckoned for him to come over. Geno sighed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, so he walked over and sat down.   
“Hi, Reaper,” Geno said, sitting down on the chair. Reaper smiled back at him, though it still held the same shakiness from earlier. “Is there something wrong? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” Geno attempted at a joke, but that made Reaper even more nervous and sweaty as he took a sip from his coffee.  
“I’m okay...just…” Reaper trailed off, and Geno raised an eyebrow.  
“Did something happen?” Geno asked, and Reaper sighed, putting his coffee cup and looking around. The Starbucks was loud and busy, and Reaper leaned forwards.  
“I need to ask you something,” Reaper said. Geno raised a brow. He had just met this guy and he was asking a question that sounded like he was going to ask Geno out on a date?  
“Are you immortal?” Reaper asked, his face dead serious, and Geno burst out laughing, so hard to the point where he was crying.  
“Oh my god, that was a good one, it really caught me off guard,” Geno said, wiping a tear from his eye, yet he caught the dead serious look in Reaper’s eyes. “You’re not serious, are you?” Reaper nodded.  
“I touched you,” Reaper said. Geno frowned.  
“You mean the tiny hand brush from earlier?” Geno asked, and Reaper nodded.  
“Anything I touch dies,” Reaper finally said. “If you haven’t caught on to it, I’m Reaper. The God of Death.” Geno blinked a few times. He remembered thinking about meeting death, but he hadn’t been serious about meeting the God of Death!! Yet here he was, talking to him--wait. Was he really the God of Death?  
“Are you actually the God of Death?” Geno asked, as Reaper finished his coffee, and stood up to throw it out. Geno stood up as well, following Reaper out.  
“Yes, I am,” Reaper said.  
“Then how are you going to prove it? Touch someone and then see them die? Summon a giant scythe?” Reaper grinned.  
“The first one, no--that breaks some fundamental God laws. Two, yes, I can summon a giant scythe, just not in public. My job requires me to reap the souls of the dead--and if you want to believe me so that we can get down to the real talk, I’ll bring you to a reaping,” Reaper said, reaching out with his gloved hand. Geno paused. “You didn’t die when you touched my hand earlier, and I’m wearing gloves. C’mon,” Reaper said, leading him away from the Starbucks and into an alleyway. Geno shivered.  
“Where are we going?” Reaper grinned.  
“Ever wanted to go to Australia?”  
After they reappeared in Australia, the first thing that Geno noticed was the fact that nobody was around. They were in the middle of a forest, and a man was lying on the ground, dead. “I’m not going to bring you to some hospital or something--mortals may not be able to see me, but they can see you, and that would be weird,” Reaper said, summoning a giant scythe, and Geno made an ‘eep!’ sound, jumping back.  
“You weren’t kidding,” Geno said, as a heart appeared over the man’s chest, and Reaper sliced through it, and it immediately broke.  
“It’s my job, I’m really the god of Death,” Reaper said. Geno facepalmed. This day couldn’t get any weirder.  
 **Introduction: Reaper**  
It was another soul to be reaped, a single monster soul in a car accident. Quite tragic, if you asked Reaper. The soul in front of him was unlike any other soul that he’d ever seen. It was glitched, mostly black, but not like the black HATE that covered Chara’s soul. It held different colors like yellow and navy blue. Reaper sighed, remembering that Chara was off reaping another few humans in different places. They had decided to split up to cover more ground. Reaper took another few seconds to stare at the unnatural soul, before sighing. If they had been alive, he would’ve liked to meet the skeleton that was on the stretcher. He seemed like a very interesting individual...now it was time to see if their will or Death’s scythe was stronger. Reaper grinned, raising his scythe, before bringing it down on the soul of the dead. Then, something that Reaper was familiar with, but didn’t happen too often, happened to the soul. Right after Reaper’s scythe slashed through the soul, it fizzed for a second, glitched (those two things he had never seen before), and then turned grey. It hadn’t shattered, which was what happened normally when Reaper reaped souls, but when they turned grey...it meant that this soul had withstood the reaping, and according to what they had found out, would now become a ghost. This usually happened because the soul had a reason to stay on Earth after they died--presumably to look after a loved one. Reaper frowned as the soul faded away into the background, and then sighed. The area around him was a hospital, and he closed his eyes before concentrating. He usually couldn’t see ghosts, but with enough concentration, it was possible. A few seconds later, Reaper opened his eyes to see another skeleton in front of him, staring down at his body.   
“Heya,” Reaper greeted. The ghost-skeleton turned around, wide-eyed, before scanning his appearance.  
“You...can see me? Nobody else has--though that’s probably because I’m a ghost,” the skeleton said. Reaper was a little caught off guard by the way that this skeleton’s voice glitched in and out of existence itself as he spoke.  
“Heh, yes, I can see you. I’m Reaper--the god of Death,” Reaper said, holding out his hand. The other skeleton didn’t want to touch his hand. “Don’t worry--since you’re already dead, you can’t die to my touch,” Reaper assured him, and the other skeleton jumped.  
“Oh--I’m Error,” Error introduced. “I just...I have haphephobia. I don’t like being touched--though I didn’t know if you were alive...you died to your touch,” Error said, interested. “How?” Reaper sighed.  
“A curse,” Reaper shortly said, and Error got the message that it was a touchy subject.  
“So...you reaped me? Is this what happens to everyone who dies?” Error asked, glancing around before looking down at his pale, transparent hands.  
“Yes, I reaped you--no, this doesn't happen to everyone. The only reason why you withstood the reaping is that you have a strong force of will--or, you have some unfinished business on earth. The other option is that you’re a poltergeist--you have no real reason for staying on earth, and in that case, either I failed the reaping, which is something I haven’t done in a while, or it was just your soul half-stopping me.” Reaper explained, and Error nodded, intaking all of the information.  
“So...I won’t leave?” Error asked, and the god of Death shook his head.  
“There are two scenarios--you either fulfill your duty on earth and then peacefully pass on, or...even after you do that, you stay on Earth because you got attached to something else. It really depends on you,” Reaper explained. The other glitching skeleton sighed, and then perked up.  
“So, do you know when everyone’s going to die?” Error asked, and looked a little nervous when Reaper nodded. “Can you tell me when my brothers are going to die? Because I think the reason why I stayed was so that I could stay with them both and watch over them,” Error explained, twiddling with his fingers. Reaper sighed.  
“One. I will allow one since the knowledge...could break you.” Reaper carefully said, and then arched a brow. “Well, what’s his name?” Error seemed to snap out of it.  
“Oh, I thought you had to look at the person,” Error said. “Genocide CQ,” Error said, and Reaper snapped his fingers, and a giant book appeared in his hands.  
“Genocide CQ,” Reaper repeated, and the book opened itself, before closing it. Reaper frowned--he had never seen anything like that. “Genocide CQ,” Reaper repeated, and the book glowed slightly before not opening. Reaper’s eyes widened.  
“No way. You said that your brother was a mortal, right?” Reaper asked, and Error nodded, confused. “Here. I have a friend, his name’s Outer. He’s the God of the Cosmos. And you know Gods can’t die, right?” Error nodded again, starting to catch on. “Watch. Outer Cosmos,” Reaper said, and the book refused to open once again. Error snorted.  
“The god of the Cosmos’s last name is literally Cosmos,” Error snickered. Reaper rolled his eyes. He liked this one.  
“No, his title is technically the god of Space, but he just likes to make it sound fancy,” Reaper said. “But, back onto the topic, it means that your brother is immortal. He can’t die.” Error’s jaw dropped.  
“But--he’s always in a fragile state!” Reaper looked at Error in the eyes.  
“Think about it--how long has your brother had the wound for?” Reaper asked, and Error responded.  
“4 years now?” The glitch responded.  
“4 years, and he still hasn’t died. Maybe it’s because he’s so fragile, or maybe not as fragile as he seems, which is stopping him from dying,” the reaper said, and Error sighed.  
“Okay--my day went from awful, to weird, to extra weird, considering I’m talking to death,” Error said, but Reaper’s interest had been piqued.  
“Can you show me your brother?” Reaper asked, and Error nodded.  
“Promise that you won’t hurt him,” Error said. Reaper nodded.  
“I promise,” Reaper said, and Error visibly relaxed.  
“I’ll show you to him,” Error said, walking out the door as if he’d been on the ground. Reaper floated after him, making sure to dodge other mortals. They couldn't see him in this state, but one mistake, and they’d be dead in seconds. Deciding that it’d be better to float above the crowd, Reaper lay down in the air and continued to float, following Error. Finally, Error turned into another room, and Reaper went right under the door. Error then pointed to one of the two mortals that were crying together, and Reaper instantly knew who Genocide was. He had a giant, bleeding gash through his chest, but he seemed alive and fine...and they had met, earlier. But damn he was cute. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Reaper gazed at the wound.  
“Hmm...interesting wound,” Reaper said. Error glanced at him but said nothing. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Must’ve been a large gash from a knife,” Reaper said, but then his mind froze. What if the person who had been going around, doing massacres had been the one to make the gash in Error’s brother’s chest?  
 **Introduction: Chara**  
Chara grinned, striking down the last human soul in her sight with her giant scythe. The soul broke into many shards, flying through the air, though somehow, none of the remains getting on the Goddess of Chaos.   
“Oh, how beautiful~” Chara gleefully sang, staring at the bloodied battlefield. There had been a battle, and she was simply cleaning up their mess afterward, reaping the souls of those who had died. It wasn’t her job, sure, but she had been forced to swear a magic oath that made it impossible to break that she wouldn't kill mortals before their time. “I shall never reap or kill a human before their time of death,” it had been. So how else was she supposed to kill people? Reap their souls when it was their time to go, of course! Though, it hadn’t always been this way--she had been on the run for centuries, maybe millennia, after almost killing the Goddess of Life. She had killed mortals before their time of death--something that majorly disrupted the balance of death and life during her time on the run, which had caused quite the commotion around the godly realm. But now, after promising the God of Judgement (who also had the power to bind someone to their promise) that she wouldn’t do that anymore (even though she had already sworn an oath to Death), she was going to do Death’s job--and honestly, he hated the job, so it was a win-win for both of them! Speaking of Death, the god of demise appeared, his black cloak fluttering in the slight wind as they stared each other down.   
“Hello, Reaper!” Chara happily exclaimed. The Goddess of Chaos had been corrupted after he failed Reaping her--so it hadn’t entirely been her fault when she went on a rampage. Even now, her bright red soul of DETERMINATION was covered by a slight black sheen...of HATE. Sometimes, it even took over when she felt immense rage or intense negative emotions. And when she meant intense, she meant by intense. But that was far off from simply being angry or sad. Chara had done her best to repress the horrible substance that plagued her--but she felt safer, ironically, with the oath bounding her. It would stop her from making too many reckless decisions while she was blinded by the horrible sheen that covered her soul. How ironic.  
“Chara,” Reaper greeted, before floating over to a human and slashing at a soul that Chara had forgotten to reap. “You’re growing forgetful,” he said, his voice heading the slightest hint of a warning in his tone. Chara grinned, her grip on the scythe growing tighter as they stared each other down on the graveyard of a battlefield.  
“I suppose I have,” Chara sighed, her smile not leaving her face as Reaper grew closer and closer.  
“Rusty, maybe?” Reaper said, his smile creeping up his face, his two usually lit-up eyelights now entirely black. Chara grinned, her own scythe resting steady in her hands as they two approached. Reaper’s swing would’ve seemed too quick for anyone to react to, but Chara easily blocked, the metal of both of their blades crackling together as they stared at each other.  
“I don’t think so, Death,” the Goddess grinned, before they both returned their weapons respectfully to their sides, the two of them grinning at each other. After taking up part of his job, they had recently started to get closer--and Chara wasn’t looking for weak spots, she wanted a friend who understood what it was like to hold the decision in their hands--to end a mortal’s life, or to spare them.  
“You’re getting better,” Reaper said. “I don’t know if I should be proud or scared,” the god of Death said. Chara scoffed, dragging her scythe into the earth in order to lean against the long, black handle.  
“Proud--you know I swore your oath, old pal!” Chara grinned, her eyes scanning the battlefield. “I think we’re done here, but...something troubles me, Reaper,” Chara worriedly said. “This time...it was a massacre, Death,” Chara said, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve inspected the wounds--all of this...was done by one single person. By a knife, too--though I’ve never seen any knife that could be that big to inflict that kind of large wound...but it was a knife stab wound,” Chara said. Reaper raised a brow.  
“Why does this concern you?” Reaper asked, curious. Chara stood up after re-examining the stab wound.  
“Because...Reaper, you know there’s been more death than life recently.” Reaper scoffed.  
“You’re worried about the balance? You were the one trying to destroy it perhaps a few centuries ago!” Reaper playfully said. Chara shook her head.  
“Back then, I had nothing to lose. Now...I have Frisk and Asriel,” she said. Reaper knew how close the three were, and backed down.  
“I think I’m going to track this massacre person down and see if I can talk to them after making myself visible,” Chara said. “I would like to see their motivations--maybe I can convince them using that in order to not...disrupt the balance more,” the Goddess offered, and Reaper nodded.  
“I agree--would you like for me to come with you, pal?” Reaper asked, but Chara shook her head.  
“I think that they would be scared by facing the Grim Reaper--I look significantly less intimidating when I’m not smiling,” Chara said, her face resorting into its neutral position again, and Reaper had to agree. “I’m also human--which could be an advantage. If I change into some mortal clothes, then I would stand a better chance,” Chara said. Reaper rolled his eyes.  
“Fine, but if you need any help…” Chara smiled.  
“Yeah, yeah--you’ll be right there,” Chara said. They were good friends--who else wouldn’t offer their help to one?  
“I will. It’s time to move, Chara. More death.” Reaper said, but Chara had already sensed it and nodded. It was a tiring job--but better with a friend. Chara sighed.  
“I wonder if it’ll be the massacrist,” Chara said as they both teleported to the scene of the source of the death together.  
 **Introduction: Frisk**  
 _Frisk knew that she was dreaming from the second that she opened her eyes. She didn’t know how she knew that she was dreaming, but she was almost ghost-like, her body transparent. Gazing around her, she realized that she was rooted to the spot, but that didn’t stop her from scanning the area. It was a hall, illuminated in shades of yellow and orange, the glass around her being painted in yellows and oranges, vibrant and dull colors mixed together to form symbols that she didn’t recognize. The tiles on the ground were a mixture of maroon, orange, and a light yellow, strong pillars holding the roof in many places. What in the world was this place? Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she whirled around…_  
 _To see herself. And that wasn’t even the worst part--she was holding a knife and was touching a glowing, yellow star. She had no idea as to what that was. Frisk tried to speak.  
"Please, what are you doing?!” Frisk said, but the other her didn’t seem to hear Frisk or ignored her as the other one opened her eyes. Frisk would’ve taken a step back if she could. They were a glowing, bloodthirsty red. The other Frisk moved forwards, the knife she held coated with dust and it made Frisk sick--she knew that monsters turned to dust when they died. This person was a murderer, and Frisk wanted to vomit right then and there._  
 _“Hey. You’ve been busy, huh?” Sans’s familiar voice rang through the hall as Frisk whirled around to see Sans--though he was staring right at the other Frisk._  
 _“Sans--what is this?!” Frisk spoke again, but he didn’t respond. Her legs wouldn’t move--they felt like ice and were numb._  
 _“So...let me ask you a question. Do you think even the worst person can change, if they just try?” Sans continued, and Frisk saw the other her’s grip tighten on the knife. “Alright, then. Here’s a different question. Do you wanna have a bad time?” The familiar, threatening phrase sent shivers down her spine as she remembered that Sans only used that line when he was using a serious threat towards someone. “Because if you take one more step, you won’t like what happens next,” Sans warned, but the other Frisk took a step forward anyway. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Sans said, and the world around her turned black and white as a glowing, red heart appeared in front of Frisk and the other Frisk’s chest. Sans’s eyes glanced over to her glowing red heart, and frowned, before returning his attention to the other Frisk. “It’s a beautiful day outside.” A few Gaster Blasters appeared and fired at the other Frisk, who dodged perfectly. “Birds are singing, flowers are blooming,” a few more fired. “On days like these, kids like you should be Burning in Hell.” And so the fight began. Frisk watched, helpless, as the other her swiped at Sans multiple times with her knife through turns, dodging bones and Gaster Blasters. Frisk knew that Sans was getting tired, seeing the sweat on his brow. “I figure that one of these turns, you’re going to kill me. So that’s the thing--it’s never going to be your turn.” Frisk watched as the other her grew a gigantic, evil grin on her face, and she knew that the other Frisk was planning something. Sans fell asleep, and the other Frisk lunged at Sans again, and he dodged. “Heh, did you really think that--” Frisk felt the numbness in her legs thaw, and suddenly, she was springing into action, appearing in front of Sans, catching the arm of the other her. A grin on her face, the two of them started to struggle for the upper hand as Sans watched, shocked. Frisk remembered something that Chara had taught her, and twisted the arm, making the other Frisk drop her knife onto the ground. The other Frisk let out a cry of pain as Frisk twisted her arm, using her foot to pin her to the ground, her arm bent upwards at an odd angle. Frisk pinned the other hand to the floor as her stance was steady and strong._  
 _“What the hell are you thinking?!” Frisk hissed, and the other Frisk let out a whimper of pain. Frisk knew better than to let her go._  
 _“Please...kill me,” the other Frisk whispered. “I can’t hold the PLAYER back for longer.”_  
 _“Player?!” Frisk exclaimed, her entire body shivering._  
 _“The one that controls me forced me to do all of this,” the other Frisk whispered._  
 _“Kid, what’s going on?” Frisk turned around to face Sans._  
 _“I don’t know--I just woke up here,” Frisk said, and that was when Player wrenched control over the other Frisk’s body again. Her strength had slacked when she turned around to face Sans, and the Player pushed Frisk off of her. Frisk stumbled before the Player lunged._  
 _Blood splattered against the ground as Frisk looked down at the wound in her chest. She felt nothing, oddly. The blood soaked her white outfit, standing it crimson as Player looked at her expectantly, expecting the Goddess to fall to the ground and die instantly.  
“Interesting,” Frisk simply said. “Do you not know who I am?” The Player started to back up as Frisk approached her, the blood dripping to the ground, leaving a trail of blood as she neared her. “I am Frisk, the Goddess of Mercy,” Sans’s mouth dropped behind her. “And I cannot die. So, now, I demand of you to give control back to Frisk.” Frisk said, her voice icy calm as the Player trembled. “I may be the Goddess of Mercy, but that does not mean that I cannot inflict harm onto you. Now, I want you to swear an oath.” The Player was trembling under Frisk’s cold glare. “Repeat after me if you wish to live: I shall now give control over to Frisk, forever,” Frisk said, and the Player paused._  
 _“What--”_  
 _“Do it now. My offer expires in 4….3….2…--”_  
 _“I shall now give control over to Frisk, forever!!” The Player quickly exclaimed, and Frisk grinned._  
 _“Wise choice. You just swore an oath to a Goddess--so this will never be undone unless I say so,” Frisk simply said, and glowing, golden runes imprinted themselves over Player’s wrist and neck--the bindings of an oath. The Player let out a last, shrill scream, before collapsing to the floor._  
 _“Kid.” Frisk whipped around to see Sans. “I can never thank you enough for this,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. Frisk grinned._  
 _“No problem, Sans,” she said and shrugged before she heard something in the distance._  
 _“Frisk….”_  
 _“Frisk…”_  
“FRISK!!” Frisk jolted up in her bed, gasping for air. “Frisk, we have to go, now!!” Sans said, and Frisk looked up at him.  
“What?!”  
“THE ATTACK!!”  
 **Introduction: Sans**  
It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming...and on days like these, gods like him should’ve been left to sleep!!   
“Sans,” Frisk, another Goddess whispered, as Sans’s head snapped up. He realized that he had fallen asleep beside Frisk at a very important meeting between the Gods and Goddesses.  
“Sans. I see that you have decided that it would be a good idea to sleep during this meeting?” 404 said, his voice holding amusement as Sans looked up and smiled directly at the glitch. Other Gods and Goddesses would usually never have this much bravery, but Sans knew 404--he was good at heart.  
“Yes,” Sans responded, his smile growing larger. But 404 simply frowned.  
“Have you been sleeping enough? You usually never sleep in important meetings, despite your reputation for being lazy,” 404 said. Sans let out a drawn-out laugh as Frisk glanced at him, worried.  
“No, I haven’t,” Sans admitted. “Sorry--I’ll pay attention now,” he said, and 404 grinned and went back to the meeting. 404 was considered one of the higher Gods, because of his abilities and the control he had over them. Though, the one who sent out all of the orders was King Multiverse, though he was...not seen anymore much. He had closed himself off from the other gods for an unknown reason, and now just simply left messages for the rest of them. Returning his attention back to the topic, 404 had continued to speak.  
“Reaper--you said that you and Chara, while reaping, found many sights of massacres, presumably all done by the same person?” Chara nodded, standing up from her chair. A few murmurs were heard. There were still a few people that were wary of Chara with the rest of the Gods--a few centuries ago, she had almost killed Life, which would've been an unforgivable crime. This resulted in her being not very trusted by most Gods and Goddesses--though Sans knew that Chara was a good person at heart.  
“Yes--all the wounds were done by a giant knife, and a knife that large that I have never seen anywhere else,” Chara confirmed. Reaper nodded as well. Sans’s eyes started to close again as he fought to keep himself awake, half-listening to what the other Gods were talking about. As soon as 404 dismissed everyone, Sans stood up, about to teleport back to his own domain, when Frisk grabbed his arm.  
“Sans, would you like to stay with me and Chara for awhile?” Frisk softly said, and Sans shrugged.  
“Sure, why not kid? Though, I might fall asleep,” Sans said, and Frisk scoffed at the usage of ‘kid’.  
“You still call me that, after all this time?” Frisk asked, Chara regrouping with them.  
“I’m going to spend some time with Asriel,” Chara said. “I’ll leave you two on your own. See ya!" Chara pranced over to Asriel and they both disappeared from sight. Frisk rolled her eyes, and Sans snapped his fingers.  
Frisk’s shrine building was a soft combination of white, black, and the same shade of pink as the Sakura blossom trees all around.   
“You always favored Sakura blossoms and a lot from Japanese traditions, didn’t you?” Sans said as he walked forwards. The two of them walked up the grey stone steps to the black doors, where two golden knockers of dragons neatly rested near the middle of the two doors. Frisk smiled, going up the steps as well, her brown sandals clicking slightly against the stairs as she put her hand on the doors, murmuring “Rokku kaijo,” which was Japanese for ‘unlocked’. She locked her doors whenever she went out or was at a meeting. “Favouring Japanese words, I see,” Sans slightly teased as Frisk opened the doors, stepping through.  
“Pfft--can you really blame me?” Frisk said, leading him inside. It wasn’t too modern or too old--just the perfect mix of in-between as Frisk led him into her kitchen, the walls having pictures of sakura blossoms painted on them. There were a few walls where pictures had been enlarged, framed, and hung.  
“Is this us last year?” Sans said, stopping at a painting. It was Frisk, Chara, Sans, and Asriel all posing for the camera, the sun shining brightly behind them. Frisk and Chara were in the middle, with Frisk doing cute peace signs while Chara smiled neutrally--not the creepy one she wore to intimidate others. Just a simple, happy smile. Asriel was in the middle of a laugh, his mouth opened as he slung his arm around Chara’s shoulder, and Sans was leaning slightly towards Frisk, his smile wider than usual as he stared at the camera. In the background, a few sakura blossom petals were falling by, the wind having been gracefully pulling them off of the branches and leading them towards the ground.  
“Yes, it is,” Frisk said, before dragging him off to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room. Sans grinned, instantly plopping down onto her couch. “I’m making tea so that you don’t fall asleep!” Frisk called, yet Sans found himself drifting off once again as he closed his tired eyes, and allowed himself to get some well-needed rest.  
“Sans!” Frisk said, jolting Sans up from his sleep. “You’ve been sleeping for an hour!” Sans blinked a few times. Had it already been an hour? Sans grinned apologetically, Frisk somehow having been able to keep the tea warm enough for an hour to the point where it was steaming. Setting it down on the wooden table in front of the couch, Frisk sat down next to the skeleton before taking a sip of her own tea, from the delicate, white china cup.  
“I’m sorry--it was an hour? Why didn’t you wake me as soon as you finished making the tea?” Sans asked, taking a cup into his gloved hands, before taking a sip as well. It had been slightly sugared--it was Jasmine tea--but not to the point where the sugar was overpowering. It was just right.  
“Because it looked like you needed some of it--though I woke you up because I needed to talk to you about something,” Frisk said. Sans quirked an eyebrow, and both of them took another sip of their tea.  
“About what?” Sans asked, and Frisk sighed, looking down.  
“Your nightmares,” the Goddess said, and Sans instantly looked away. “From...that time.” Sans sighed, putting the cup down in order to rest his head in his hands.  
“They’ve been getting better--I can sleep well, good dreams, especially when at your shrine,” Sans said. “But...there are some bad days,” the God of Judgement admitted. Frisk took Sans’s hand into hers, Sans’s face having the slightest hint of blush on his face as Frisk opened her brown, almost golden eyes, and stared into his.  
“I’m here whenever you need me--whenever,” Frisk said, and Sans made no move to take his hand out of hers as Frisk shuffled over, leaning on Sans, in almost a comforting way.  
“Thank you, Frisk.”  
“Anytime.”  
 **Introduction: Bill**  
“Deal?” Bill said, holding out his hand. “I’ll get both of you your information--but you have to do something for me in return,” Bill said, and the figure in front of him paused.  
“What’s your side of the deal?” The figure asked, and Bill smirked.  
“I won’t say unless you accept the deal,” Bill said. The figure shifted in front of him.  
“I won’t make a deal or promise unless I know both sides,” the figure responded, and Bill sighed, putting his hands behind his head.  
“Fine, I’ll sweeten the deal--only because I’m feeling nice today. I’ll tell you my side of the deal before we actually seal it,” Bill offered, and the figure in front of him cautiously nodded. “I want you to find the God named 404.” The figure in front of him nodded.  
“What does he look like?” The figure asked, and Bill grinned.  
“White-boned skeleton, navy blue tear-like marks going down his face, blue eyes, wears all white and blue with shades of blue.” The figure nodded and held out his hand.  
“Deal,” the figure said. Bill reached out his own hand, and as soon as their fingers connected, a soft yellow light emitted from their hands, signaling that the deal had been made between the two. After a few seconds, the light receded, and the two of them let their hands fall to their sides. “May I ask why you’re trying to look for him?” Bill frowned.  
“I can’t unless you tell me who you are, and how you know about gods and the supernatural in the first place,” Bill said. The figure sighed.  
“My name is Cross--and I’ve been dealing with the supernatural ever since I can remember. I know about the gods because I’ve called in favors from spirits and other creatures to give me information. Last I heard, 404 was still there?” The newly identified Cross said. Bill grinned.  
“Ah, so you’re mortal that invests in the supernatural--got it. He’s only showing up for meetings, and other than that, he’s gone. Without a trace. Poofed.” Bill said, using his hands for emphasis. “We can't find him anywhere,” he said. Cross nodded.  
“I think with the information you gave me just about his appearance, I can call in a few favors and see if any spirits have gotten any sightings on him,” Cross informed the God. Bill nodded.  
“I hope that you can find him soon,” Bill said, and Cross nodded, the hood covering his head as he turned around.  
“I will try my best,” he assured, and Bill hoped that he did because he wanted to see 404 again.  
It was time they had a serious talk. Because last time Bill had tried to talk to 404 after a meeting, the other skeleton had fled the scene, not even giving his friend a glance. Bill wanted to know why he had been like that, and why he was hiding away. And he was going to find out, no matter what measures it took.  
 **Introduction: 404**  
404 grit his teeth, staring at the figure in front of him. “What do you want from me?!” 404 asked, the figure drawing closer and closer until 404 could clearly see their features. This was the reason why he went into hiding--if anyone else knew where he was, they would be put into danger as well. He couldn't put that on anyone...especially Bill. Shaking his head, the figure in front of him grinned.  
“You know very well what I want,” they said, and 404’s feet were frozen to the ground in fear. He wasn’t scared of many people...but this one terrified him after he knew what they had done to innocent children. And he was never going to comply. Bravery and justice ran through his veins, warming him up, freeing him of the ice prison that kept him still as he stared back at the figure.  
“And I’ll never give that to you.” 404 reached his hands up to snap, and the figure in front of him smirked.  
“Very well. You know I will never stop asking, right?” The figure asked, and 404 didn’t care.  
“Leave me alone,” 404 snapped. “And don’t come after me.” Before the other could protest, 404 snapped his fingers, teleporting him away to safety...and away from the figure who was now cackling evilly.  
“I will get you to comply...no matter how long it takes.”  
 **Introduction: Betty**  
 _It was so dark. Everything was closing in on the girl as she dropped to her knees in front of her older brother. The darkness around her threatened to consume her--extinguish everything she knew, burying her underneath its layers upon layers as she stared at the humongous wound in his chest. A spear wound. Her sister’s spear had done that.  
“Brother...please, please, you can’t be dead!” The girl said, crouching down to cry into her brother's lifeless chest. Bad idea. The pain that shot through her chest was unbearable--the agony spread through her entire body as she collapsed on top of her brother, the spear sticking through her chest as a cry of agony ripped itself out of her throat. It was pure pain as she looked down at the spear in her chest, glowing a soft amber color. Her sister’s spear. No. That wasn’t her sister anymore. That thing couldn’t be considered as her sister anymore. Something had corrupted her--made her into a monster. The agony grew worse as a pink light softly hummed in the background, the monster’s evil laughter growing louder as she felt the feeling in her body slipping away as she slumped over her brother’s body. Everything was getting blacker, the darkness lingering at the edges of her vision, slowly closing in, eerily inevitable. She let herself close her eyes as the darkness carried her away._  
 _But then, suddenly, her eyes snapped open, intaking the biggest breath of air that she could. Staggering to her feet, she studied her surroundings. Her brother lay on the floor a few feet away, and turning around, the monster that used to be her sister lay, dead, as well on the ground. The monster’s hand reaching out to something, as if it was the last thing on her mind before death. But then...following the trail of her hands...it only led to--wait, what was her name? Shaking her head, she stood up and examined herself. Purple leggings, brown boots, pink skirt, pink and purple striped sweater, and the ends of her hair were pink, with the rest of her hair brown. She knew this wasn’t what she looked like, but she couldn’t seem to recall what she had looked like. Shaking her head, she sighed, before something moved behind her. Whipping around, she found a tiny little pink blob sitting on the ground. “Who are you?!” The girl asked, taking a step back. “Your name...is Akumu?” The girl asked, after hearing a series of chirps and different sounds from the blob. “You know my name? Well then, what is it?” Another series of chirps and different sounds. “Bete Noire? How about Betty--that sounds a little too ominous,” Betty said, a small smile on her face. Akumu gave her a smile. “Okay, Betty it is!”_  
Betty gasped, wrenching her body up. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, and she fought to clear her surroundings. What had been that dream? Betty finally managed to calm herself out of her panic and stood up. She had taken a nap underneath a Sakura tree in Frisk’s shrine. Looking around, she found no signs of the kind Goddess or Chara. Releasing a shaky breath, Betty started going towards the stone path that split off to the left, right, or straight ahead for Frisk’s house. Turning to the left, she kept on the path until she reached a garden, fenced by giant shrubs. The garden. Going inside, she was greeted by birds tweeting and many beautiful flowers blooming. In the center, stood a large water fountain. It had 3 layers on it, the bottom being the largest and the top being the smallest. Many little birds perched on the edges of the almost overflowing water fountain. She went over to stand over the water fountain in order to look at her reflection. Everything looked the same as it always did. Her name was Betty Noire--or Bete Noire, though she told nobody that. Sighing, she stared at her own pink pupils before moving away from the water fountain to sit on the bench, her mood gloomy. That had been one of her worst nightmares ever--and she’d had plenty of nightmares before, though they didn’t usually come when she was at Frisk’s shrine. Betty sighed, holding her head in her hands. CC and Cross would’ve been long gone by now, though Betty really did enjoy being in the ghost’s presence. He was confident and outgoing, along with humorous and--that was enough rambling! Betty felt her face heat up only slightly as she sighed, putting her hands in between her knees. She had embarrassed herself mentally--even though nobody could hear her thoughts, she still felt slightly embarrassed. She did not like CC. No. Not at all! There was a 0% chance that she liked him. Or he liked her. Slapping herself slightly in the arm, her thoughts wandered back to the nightmare. Her brother. Her sister. She had never had any memory of having a brother or sister--and she didn’t remember anything before waking up in her nightmare. Could it perhaps been a memory? Betty let herself cling onto the hope that it was, and not simply some random nightmare that her mind had conjured. Crossing her fingers, the wind blew softly, and the slight clink of chimes sounded from further off in the distance of the shrine. It was always warm in Frisk’s shrine, all time around. Never too hot or too cold. Betty sighed, and Kumu appeared beside her, making a face and then speaking in its incarnate language.   
“I’m feeling fine, Kumu, don’t worry,” Kumu gave her a face of disbelief, before turning away and closing its eyes.  
“Hey,” a voice said, and Betty’s head whipped around, her hair whipping around with it as she turned to face CC, his body transparent as usual. Despite him being a ghost, he always walked around like he was on solid land and a solid being.  
“Oh! CC, I thought that you and Cross had left,” Betty said. Despite always being warm, the shrine did have a day-night cycle, and the sun was starting to set. She must’ve slept through the entire afternoon.  
“Yeah, but we came back,” CC said. “You fell asleep, so I decided to leave you to sleep in peace,” he said, but he left out the part of how peaceful she looked while asleep.  
“Why did you come back?” Betty asked, and CC’s face darkened.  
“Cross fears that there’s going to be an onslaught of Crocotta tomorrow,” CC said, and Betty stood up.  
“Does he know which time?” Betty asked, and CC shook his head.  
“He’s going to pull in a favor from another spirit, while he sent me to tell you,” CC said, and Betty nodded.  
“As soon as he gets the time, notify me, okay?” Betty said, and CC scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
“It’s not the first time that we’ve had an abundance of the supernatural--you know I’ll tell you,” CC jokingly said. Betty grinned.  
Tomorrow was going to be fun.


End file.
